


For One Brief Moment

by PatL



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-06
Updated: 2000-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:36:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatL/pseuds/PatL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch's lover is killed while he is in the room. Now Starsky has to find the killer and uncover the tragic secret that could destroy his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Detective David Starsky pushed his way through the crowd of curious spectators and bounded up the steps of the dilapidated hotel. On Skid Row, the sight of police cars and an occasional coroner's wagon wasn't that unusual. Still, at two in the morning, there wasn't much else to see.  
Though it wasn't necessary, he flashed his badge at the uniformed officers guarding the door. Charlie Armstrong met him at a door, which bore the almost illegible number 302.  
"You got here fast, Starsky. We weren't sure where you were."  
"I wasn't far. Where is he?"  
"He's in here. It's not pretty," Armstrong warned.  
Starsky had been a policeman for a long time. For seven years, his beat had been the inner city. He'd seen a lot of "not very pretty" sights in that time, but this one hit close to home.   
Charlie opened the door and allowed Starsky to go in first. After he stepped through and let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, Starsky looked around the room.  
The hotel room itself looked like a hundred others he'd seen. At least, it did until he looked at the bed. The cover was rumpled, the sheets covered in blood. Lying on the bed beneath another blood-soaked sheet was the body of a woman. Women's clothes hung over the foot of the bed and lay on the floor. A man's tee shirt, shirt and jacket were hung on the tarnished brass post on the other side. An empty shoulder holster lay forgotten on the floor beside the bed. Someone had picked up the gun and laid it on the table. It only took a few seconds to figure out what had happened.  
"Oh, my God," Starsky breathed. He walked over to the body and lifted a corner of the sheet. She had been shot at close range in the chest, and he didn't need a doctor to tell him that she had died instantly. Starsky felt sick as he looked at her face. He had hoped that he wouldn't know her, but he did.   
Sitting in the corner, huddled in a chair, was a man. Clad in nothing but his trousers, a blanket across his shoulders, the man sat forward with his face buried in his hands.   
Starsky turned back to Charlie. "Has he said anything?"  
"No. It was the desk clerk that made the call. He said they checked in about seven or so. Everything was quiet, then all of a sudden he heard a loud crash. He said he heard a woman scream, but before he could move, he heard three shots. He was afraid to go investigate after that, so he called us. When we got here, we found this. As soon as I saw him, I called you."  
"Did you ask him anything?"  
"Starsk, he's not in any condition to answer questions. I'm not even sure he knows we're here."  
"Terrific." Starsky drew a deep breath and walked over to the figure in the chair. He pulled the other chair around so he was eye level with him.  
"Hutch, it's me, Starsky. Hutch?"  
Detective Ken Hutchinson gave no indication that he heard his partner. He sat statue-still, oblivious to Starsky's voice.  
Starsky could feel his stomach tightening with fear. He reached up and pulled Hutch's hands away from his face. His blue eyes were staring straight ahead and all the color had drained from his face.  
Starsky's tone sharpened. "Hutch! Look at me. It's Starsk. Look at me!"  
After a few seconds, the blonde detective blinked. Slowly, his eyes focused and for the first time, he seemed aware of his surroundings.  
As he waited for some response, Starsky looked closely at Hutch. He noticed the blood that spattered his chest.  
"Hutch, talk to me. Are you hurt? Were you hit? Answer me!"  
Dully, he shook his head. Starsky breathed a sigh of relief; the blood was hers, then. Charlie was right, though. Hutch wasn't going to tell them anything tonight. He motioned for Charlie to come forward.  
"Come on; let's get him out of here. We'll get him down to the station and have Doc take a look at him."  
Together, he and Charlie managed to get Hutch on his feet.   
Starsky grunted, "Damn, partner, have you been working out again?"  
His half-hearted attempt at humor went unnoticed. Hutch only stood there, waiting patiently to be moved. As they started to walk him out of the room, he tried to turn toward the bed. Starsky stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  
"Hutch, no. Come on; let's get you out of here. OK?"  
Hutch stared at Starsky for a moment, then nodded. He let Charlie and Starsky take him downstairs and put him in Starsky's Torino. Starsky drove in silence to the station. He watched Hutch out of the corner of his eyes as he tried to drag a response from him. Nothing he said penetrated the fog that gripped his best friend.  
When they arrived at the station, the doctor in charge of Psychological Services met them. Dr. Stewart Massey had been with the department for fifteen years, helping cops deal with the more violent aspects of their jobs. A competent psychiatrist, Massey was a distinguished looking man in his early forties who balanced his compassion for his patients with a keen analytical mind. Starsky nodded to himself. If anyone could help Hutch, it was the Doc.  
While the doctor was examining Hutch in one corner of Captain Dobey's office, Starsky was making his report to Dobey.  
"So far, that's all we've got," he concluded. "I've got cops bangin' on every door in that hotel and in the neighborhood. Maybe we can at least get a decent description of the killer."  
Dobey was frowning. "Doesn't give us much to go on, does it? The desk clerk only heard the shots; he didn't see what happened. Didn't he see anyone run past him?"  
"He said when he heard the shots he dropped behind the desk. He was afraid that if he stuck his head out, he'd get it blown off. Can't say I blame'im."  
Dobey shrugged. "I guess you're right. Someone killed her with Hutchinson in the room, and left him alive to tell about it. Another witness probably wouldn't have been as lucky. What about the victim? Did you know her?"  
"Yeah, Cap, it was Christine Phelps. Remember? She used to work for the Dispatch. We met when she did that story about us."  
"I remember. I thought she quit the Dispatch and went freelance."  
"She did. She worked for a lotta different newspapers and magazines. She was always traveling, chasin' stories from one place to another. She and Hutch kept in touch. Whenever she was in town, she'd give him a call."  
"How serious was he about her?"  
"I don't think there were weddin' bells in the future, if that's what you're askin'. They got to know each other pretty good after she wrote that story about us. She called him whenever she was in town, and they enjoyed each other's company. But, there weren't any strings attached, if you know what I mean."  
"Whose idea was that?"  
That stopped him for a minute. "I think it was mutual, Cap. They've both been married and divorced, and it left them both a little gun-shy. Why? Does it matter?"  
Dobey shook his head. "No, I guess not. I'm just trying to get a handle on this. Why were they in a dive like the Broadway? Why not Hutch's apartment, or hers?"  
"She gave her place up when she quit the Dispatch. Her home base, if she had one, was 'Frisco. At least, that's where the paper is that bought most of her stuff."  
"So, would she pick a fleabag like the Broadway?"  
"Come to think of it, no. The only reason she would check into a place like that would be if she were workin' on something. If she took time out to see Hutch, she wasn't workin'."  
Dobey made a sound of disgust. "We're chasing our tails! We don't have one solid lead. Maybe the autopsy report will tell us something, or the prelim from the lab."  
"Maybe, but those won't be in until morning. For the time being at least, we're stuck."  
It was at that moment that Dr. Massey joined them.  
"How's he doin', Doc?" Starsky kept his voice low.  
"About how you'd expect. His blood pressure's through the roof, his pulse rate's out of control and he's not completely lucid. I gave him an injection to get his pressure down, and something to take the edge off, but that's about all I can do. He's starting to come out of it a little, though. At least, he's talking."  
Starsky glanced over at Hutch. Minnie was with him; sitting beside him and talking softly to him. Minnie had been part of the station ever since he and Hutch had joined the force. She had a soft spot for the two young detectives, helping them with their cases whenever she could. Whenever things got tough, Minnie would ease the pressure by kidding around with them.  
Now her face was serious, her voice gentle. She was trying to coax Hutch out of his shell and she was succeeding. He was answering her questions, if only in one or two words, nodding once in a while in response to something she was saying. She was holding a cup of coffee and was coaxing him into taking small sips.  
"Can I talk to him, Doc?"  
"If you mean interrogate him, he's not in any condition to answer questions. He's very close to the edge right now, and the wrong word could send him over."  
"Doc, we need somethin' to go on; a description of the suspect, the gun, anything. We're flying blind here."  
"All right. It's against my better judgment, but I know what you mean. Take it easy on him, and don't push."  
Starsky nodded at the doctor, then walked over to Hutch. He sat down in front of him.   
"Hey, partner, how we doin'?"  
Hutch shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm all right, I guess. I'm tired, though."  
"I know buddy. Hutch, did you see what the guy looked like? Was it a man, or a woman? Anything that you could tell us would help."  
"It was a man; about five-nine; medium build."  
"Could you see his face?"  
"No, he was wearing a black ski mask and black gloves. I think he was white, though. You could see a patch of skin between his glove and the sleeve of his jacket, and it was white."  
"Do you remember what he was wearing?"  
"Um, dark blue windbreaker, maybe a black t-shirt, worn out jeans, and black tennis shoes. I think they were black, I'm not sure. It happened so fast."  
Starsky reached out and squeezed his arm. "It's OK, you're doing fine. What about the gun? Was it a pistol, or maybe a rifle?"  
"A...pistol. It was an automatic, maybe a 45. I can't remember." He looked up at Starsky, eyes full of pain. "Oh, God, Starsk. We were--," he stopped and swallowed, then continued.   
"There was a crash, then he was there." He reached for Starsky's hands, almost pleading for understanding. "I tried to stop him! Oh, God, I tried!"  
Unable to continue, he slumped forward, covering his face with his hands. Doctor Massey's voice was sharp, leaving no room for protests.  
"That's enough! He can't take anymore. What he needs right now is a good strong sedative and a hospital bed, not more questions."  
"No! No hospital. I don't need to go to a hospital. I'm just tired, that's all. Please, I'm just tired. I just want to go home."   
Massey knelt beside Hutch, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Ken, I don't want you to be alone right now. That's the last thing that you need."  
Starsky spoke up. "He won't be alone. He can bunk with me for a while."  
Doctor Massey nodded reluctantly. "All right. I still think you need to be in a hospital, Ken, but I can't force you to go. I'm going to give you a mild sedative, then, to help you sleep. I want to see you tomorrow, OK?"  
Hutch closed his eyes, exhausted. He nodded without opening them, and replied, "Yeah, whatever you say, Doc. Can I please go home, now?"  
Massey took another syringe from his bag and filled it. Rolling up Hutch's sleeve, he injected the sedative. "There. It won't take effect for a little while, which will give you time to get to Dave's. I'll see you tomorrow. If you need me before then, don't hesitate to call me at home."  
Starsky nodded and stood up. He offered his hand to Hutch. "Come on, let's go home."  
Detective David Starsky pushed his way through the crowd of curious spectators and bounded up the steps of the dilapidated hotel. On Skid Row, the sight of police cars and an occasional coroner's wagon wasn't that unusual. Still, at two in the morning, there wasn't much else to see.  
Though it wasn't necessary, he flashed his badge at the uniformed officers guarding the door. Charlie Armstrong met him at a door, which bore the almost illegible number 302.  
"You got here fast, Starsky. We weren't sure where you were."  
"I wasn't far. Where is he?"  
"He's in here. It's not pretty," Armstrong warned.  
Starsky had been a policeman for a long time. For seven years, his beat had been the inner city. He'd seen a lot of "not very pretty" sights in that time, but this one hit close to home.   
Charlie opened the door and allowed Starsky to go in first. After he stepped through and let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, Starsky looked around the room.  
The hotel room itself looked like a hundred others he'd seen. At least, it did until he looked at the bed. The cover was rumpled, the sheets covered in blood. Lying on the bed beneath another blood-soaked sheet was the body of a woman. Women's clothes hung over the foot of the bed and lay on the floor. A man's tee shirt, shirt and jacket were hung on the tarnished brass post on the other side. An empty shoulder holster lay forgotten on the floor beside the bed. Someone had picked up the gun and laid it on the table. It only took a few seconds to figure out what had happened.  
"Oh, my God," Starsky breathed. He walked over to the body and lifted a corner of the sheet. She had been shot at close range in the chest, and he didn't need a doctor to tell him that she had died instantly. Starsky felt sick as he looked at her face. He had hoped that he wouldn't know her, but he did.   
Sitting in the corner, huddled in a chair, was a man. Clad in nothing but his trousers, a blanket across his shoulders, the man sat forward with his face buried in his hands.   
Starsky turned back to Charlie. "Has he said anything?"  
"No. It was the desk clerk that made the call. He said they checked in about seven or so. Everything was quiet, then all of a sudden he heard a loud crash. He said he heard a woman scream, but before he could move, he heard three shots. He was afraid to go investigate after that, so he called us. When we got here, we found this. As soon as I saw him, I called you."  
"Did you ask him anything?"  
"Starsk, he's not in any condition to answer questions. I'm not even sure he knows we're here."  
"Terrific." Starsky drew a deep breath and walked over to the figure in the chair. He pulled the other chair around so he was eye level with him.  
"Hutch, it's me, Starsky. Hutch?"  
Detective Ken Hutchinson gave no indication that he heard his partner. He sat statue-still, oblivious to Starsky's voice.  
Starsky could feel his stomach tightening with fear. He reached up and pulled Hutch's hands away from his face. His blue eyes were staring straight ahead and all the color had drained from his face.  
Starsky's tone sharpened. "Hutch! Look at me. It's Starsk. Look at me!"  
After a few seconds, the blonde detective blinked. Slowly, his eyes focused and for the first time, he seemed aware of his surroundings.  
As he waited for some response, Starsky looked closely at Hutch. He noticed the blood that spattered his chest.  
"Hutch, talk to me. Are you hurt? Were you hit? Answer me!"  
Dully, he shook his head. Starsky breathed a sigh of relief; the blood was hers, then. Charlie was right, though. Hutch wasn't going to tell them anything tonight. He motioned for Charlie to come forward.  
"Come on; let's get him out of here. We'll get him down to the station and have Doc take a look at him."  
Together, he and Charlie managed to get Hutch on his feet.   
Starsky grunted, "Damn, partner, have you been working out again?"  
His half-hearted attempt at humor went unnoticed. Hutch only stood there, waiting patiently to be moved. As they started to walk him out of the room, he tried to turn toward the bed. Starsky stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  
"Hutch, no. Come on; let's get you out of here. OK?"  
Hutch stared at Starsky for a moment, then nodded. He let Charlie and Starsky take him downstairs and put him in Starsky's Torino. Starsky drove in silence to the station. He watched Hutch out of the corner of his eyes as he tried to drag a response from him. Nothing he said penetrated the fog that gripped his best friend.  
When they arrived at the station, the doctor in charge of Psychological Services met them. Dr. Stewart Massey had been with the department for fifteen years, helping cops deal with the more violent aspects of their jobs. A competent psychiatrist, Massey was a distinguished looking man in his early forties who balanced his compassion for his patients with a keen analytical mind. Starsky nodded to himself. If anyone could help Hutch, it was the Doc.  
While the doctor was examining Hutch in one corner of Captain Dobey's office, Starsky was making his report to Dobey.  
"So far, that's all we've got," he concluded. "I've got cops bangin' on every door in that hotel and in the neighborhood. Maybe we can at least get a decent description of the killer."  
Dobey was frowning. "Doesn't give us much to go on, does it? The desk clerk only heard the shots; he didn't see what happened. Didn't he see anyone run past him?"  
"He said when he heard the shots he dropped behind the desk. He was afraid that if he stuck his head out, he'd get it blown off. Can't say I blame'im."  
Dobey shrugged. "I guess you're right. Someone killed her with Hutchinson in the room, and left him alive to tell about it. Another witness probably wouldn't have been as lucky. What about the victim? Did you know her?"  
"Yeah, Cap, it was Christine Phelps. Remember? She used to work for the Dispatch. We met when she did that story about us."  
"I remember. I thought she quit the Dispatch and went freelance."  
"She did. She worked for a lotta different newspapers and magazines. She was always traveling, chasin' stories from one place to another. She and Hutch kept in touch. Whenever she was in town, she'd give him a call."  
"How serious was he about her?"  
"I don't think there were weddin' bells in the future, if that's what you're askin'. They got to know each other pretty good after she wrote that story about us. She called him whenever she was in town, and they enjoyed each other's company. But, there weren't any strings attached, if you know what I mean."  
"Whose idea was that?"  
That stopped him for a minute. "I think it was mutual, Cap. They've both been married and divorced, and it left them both a little gun-shy. Why? Does it matter?"  
Dobey shook his head. "No, I guess not. I'm just trying to get a handle on this. Why were they in a dive like the Broadway? Why not Hutch's apartment, or hers?"  
"She gave her place up when she quit the Dispatch. Her home base, if she had one, was 'Frisco. At least, that's where the paper is that bought most of her stuff."  
"So, would she pick a fleabag like the Broadway?"  
"Come to think of it, no. The only reason she would check into a place like that would be if she were workin' on something. If she took time out to see Hutch, she wasn't workin'."  
Dobey made a sound of disgust. "We're chasing our tails! We don't have one solid lead. Maybe the autopsy report will tell us something, or the prelim from the lab."  
"Maybe, but those won't be in until morning. For the time being at least, we're stuck."  
It was at that moment that Dr. Massey joined them.  
"How's he doin', Doc?" Starsky kept his voice low.  
"About how you'd expect. His blood pressure's through the roof, his pulse rate's out of control and he's not completely lucid. I gave him an injection to get his pressure down, and something to take the edge off, but that's about all I can do. He's starting to come out of it a little, though. At least, he's talking."  
Starsky glanced over at Hutch. Minnie was with him; sitting beside him and talking softly to him. Minnie had been part of the station ever since he and Hutch had joined the force. She had a soft spot for the two young detectives, helping them with their cases whenever she could. Whenever things got tough, Minnie would ease the pressure by kidding around with them.  
Now her face was serious, her voice gentle. She was trying to coax Hutch out of his shell and she was succeeding. He was answering her questions, if only in one or two words, nodding once in a while in response to something she was saying. She was holding a cup of coffee and was coaxing him into taking small sips.  
"Can I talk to him, Doc?"  
"If you mean interrogate him, he's not in any condition to answer questions. He's very close to the edge right now, and the wrong word could send him over."  
"Doc, we need somethin' to go on; a description of the suspect, the gun, anything. We're flying blind here."  
"All right. It's against my better judgment, but I know what you mean. Take it easy on him, and don't push."  
Starsky nodded at the doctor, then walked over to Hutch. He sat down in front of him.   
"Hey, partner, how we doin'?"  
Hutch shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm all right, I guess. I'm tired, though."  
"I know buddy. Hutch, did you see what the guy looked like? Was it a man, or a woman? Anything that you could tell us would help."  
"It was a man; about five-nine; medium build."  
"Could you see his face?"  
"No, he was wearing a black ski mask and black gloves. I think he was white, though. You could see a patch of skin between his glove and the sleeve of his jacket, and it was white."  
"Do you remember what he was wearing?"  
"Um, dark blue windbreaker, maybe a black t-shirt, worn out jeans, and black tennis shoes. I think they were black, I'm not sure. It happened so fast."  
Starsky reached out and squeezed his arm. "It's OK, you're doing fine. What about the gun? Was it a pistol, or maybe a rifle?"  
"A...pistol. It was an automatic, maybe a 45. I can't remember." He looked up at Starsky, eyes full of pain. "Oh, God, Starsk. We were--," he stopped and swallowed, then continued.   
"There was a crash, then he was there." He reached for Starsky's hands, almost pleading for understanding. "I tried to stop him! Oh, God, I tried!"  
Unable to continue, he slumped forward, covering his face with his hands. Doctor Massey's voice was sharp, leaving no room for protests.  
"That's enough! He can't take anymore. What he needs right now is a good strong sedative and a hospital bed, not more questions."  
"No! No hospital. I don't need to go to a hospital. I'm just tired, that's all. Please, I'm just tired. I just want to go home."   
Massey knelt beside Hutch, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Ken, I don't want you to be alone right now. That's the last thing that you need."  
Starsky spoke up. "He won't be alone. He can bunk with me for a while."  
Doctor Massey nodded reluctantly. "All right. I still think you need to be in a hospital, Ken, but I can't force you to go. I'm going to give you a mild sedative, then, to help you sleep. I want to see you tomorrow, OK?"  
Hutch closed his eyes, exhausted. He nodded without opening them, and replied, "Yeah, whatever you say, Doc. Can I please go home, now?"  
Massey took another syringe from his bag and filled it. Rolling up Hutch's sleeve, he injected the sedative. "There. It won't take effect for a little while, which will give you time to get to Dave's. I'll see you tomorrow. If you need me before then, don't hesitate to call me at home."  
Starsky nodded and stood up. He offered his hand to Hutch. "Come on, let's go home."  
Detective David Starsky pushed his way through the crowd of curious spectators and bounded up the steps of the dilapidated hotel. On Skid Row, the sight of police cars and an occasional coroner's wagon wasn't that unusual. Still, at two in the morning, there wasn't much else to see.  
Though it wasn't necessary, he flashed his badge at the uniformed officers guarding the door. Charlie Armstrong met him at a door, which bore the almost illegible number 302.  
"You got here fast, Starsky. We weren't sure where you were."  
"I wasn't far. Where is he?"  
"He's in here. It's not pretty," Armstrong warned.  
Starsky had been a policeman for a long time. For seven years, his beat had been the inner city. He'd seen a lot of "not very pretty" sights in that time, but this one hit close to home.   
Charlie opened the door and allowed Starsky to go in first. After he stepped through and let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, Starsky looked around the room.  
The hotel room itself looked like a hundred others he'd seen. At least, it did until he looked at the bed. The cover was rumpled, the sheets covered in blood. Lying on the bed beneath another blood-soaked sheet was the body of a woman. Women's clothes hung over the foot of the bed and lay on the floor. A man's tee shirt, shirt and jacket were hung on the tarnished brass post on the other side. An empty shoulder holster lay forgotten on the floor beside the bed. Someone had picked up the gun and laid it on the table. It only took a few seconds to figure out what had happened.  
"Oh, my God," Starsky breathed. He walked over to the body and lifted a corner of the sheet. She had been shot at close range in the chest, and he didn't need a doctor to tell him that she had died instantly. Starsky felt sick as he looked at her face. He had hoped that he wouldn't know her, but he did.   
Sitting in the corner, huddled in a chair, was a man. Clad in nothing but his trousers, a blanket across his shoulders, the man sat forward with his face buried in his hands.   
Starsky turned back to Charlie. "Has he said anything?"  
"No. It was the desk clerk that made the call. He said they checked in about seven or so. Everything was quiet, then all of a sudden he heard a loud crash. He said he heard a woman scream, but before he could move, he heard three shots. He was afraid to go investigate after that, so he called us. When we got here, we found this. As soon as I saw him, I called you."  
"Did you ask him anything?"  
"Starsk, he's not in any condition to answer questions. I'm not even sure he knows we're here."  
"Terrific." Starsky drew a deep breath and walked over to the figure in the chair. He pulled the other chair around so he was eye level with him.  
"Hutch, it's me, Starsky. Hutch?"  
Detective Ken Hutchinson gave no indication that he heard his partner. He sat statue-still, oblivious to Starsky's voice.  
Starsky could feel his stomach tightening with fear. He reached up and pulled Hutch's hands away from his face. His blue eyes were staring straight ahead and all the color had drained from his face.  
Starsky's tone sharpened. "Hutch! Look at me. It's Starsk. Look at me!"  
After a few seconds, the blonde detective blinked. Slowly, his eyes focused and for the first time, he seemed aware of his surroundings.  
As he waited for some response, Starsky looked closely at Hutch. He noticed the blood that spattered his chest.  
"Hutch, talk to me. Are you hurt? Were you hit? Answer me!"  
Dully, he shook his head. Starsky breathed a sigh of relief; the blood was hers, then. Charlie was right, though. Hutch wasn't going to tell them anything tonight. He motioned for Charlie to come forward.  
"Come on; let's get him out of here. We'll get him down to the station and have Doc take a look at him."  
Together, he and Charlie managed to get Hutch on his feet.   
Starsky grunted, "Damn, partner, have you been working out again?"  
His half-hearted attempt at humor went unnoticed. Hutch only stood there, waiting patiently to be moved. As they started to walk him out of the room, he tried to turn toward the bed. Starsky stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  
"Hutch, no. Come on; let's get you out of here. OK?"  
Hutch stared at Starsky for a moment, then nodded. He let Charlie and Starsky take him downstairs and put him in Starsky's Torino. Starsky drove in silence to the station. He watched Hutch out of the corner of his eyes as he tried to drag a response from him. Nothing he said penetrated the fog that gripped his best friend.  
When they arrived at the station, the doctor in charge of Psychological Services met them. Dr. Stewart Massey had been with the department for fifteen years, helping cops deal with the more violent aspects of their jobs. A competent psychiatrist, Massey was a distinguished looking man in his early forties who balanced his compassion for his patients with a keen analytical mind. Starsky nodded to himself. If anyone could help Hutch, it was the Doc.  
While the doctor was examining Hutch in one corner of Captain Dobey's office, Starsky was making his report to Dobey.  
"So far, that's all we've got," he concluded. "I've got cops bangin' on every door in that hotel and in the neighborhood. Maybe we can at least get a decent description of the killer."  
Dobey was frowning. "Doesn't give us much to go on, does it? The desk clerk only heard the shots; he didn't see what happened. Didn't he see anyone run past him?"  
"He said when he heard the shots he dropped behind the desk. He was afraid that if he stuck his head out, he'd get it blown off. Can't say I blame'im."  
Dobey shrugged. "I guess you're right. Someone killed her with Hutchinson in the room, and left him alive to tell about it. Another witness probably wouldn't have been as lucky. What about the victim? Did you know her?"  
"Yeah, Cap, it was Christine Phelps. Remember? She used to work for the Dispatch. We met when she did that story about us."  
"I remember. I thought she quit the Dispatch and went freelance."  
"She did. She worked for a lotta different newspapers and magazines. She was always traveling, chasin' stories from one place to another. She and Hutch kept in touch. Whenever she was in town, she'd give him a call."  
"How serious was he about her?"  
"I don't think there were weddin' bells in the future, if that's what you're askin'. They got to know each other pretty good after she wrote that story about us. She called him whenever she was in town, and they enjoyed each other's company. But, there weren't any strings attached, if you know what I mean."  
"Whose idea was that?"  
That stopped him for a minute. "I think it was mutual, Cap. They've both been married and divorced, and it left them both a little gun-shy. Why? Does it matter?"  
Dobey shook his head. "No, I guess not. I'm just trying to get a handle on this. Why were they in a dive like the Broadway? Why not Hutch's apartment, or hers?"  
"She gave her place up when she quit the Dispatch. Her home base, if she had one, was 'Frisco. At least, that's where the paper is that bought most of her stuff."  
"So, would she pick a fleabag like the Broadway?"  
"Come to think of it, no. The only reason she would check into a place like that would be if she were workin' on something. If she took time out to see Hutch, she wasn't workin'."  
Dobey made a sound of disgust. "We're chasing our tails! We don't have one solid lead. Maybe the autopsy report will tell us something, or the prelim from the lab."  
"Maybe, but those won't be in until morning. For the time being at least, we're stuck."  
It was at that moment that Dr. Massey joined them.  
"How's he doin', Doc?" Starsky kept his voice low.  
"About how you'd expect. His blood pressure's through the roof, his pulse rate's out of control and he's not completely lucid. I gave him an injection to get his pressure down, and something to take the edge off, but that's about all I can do. He's starting to come out of it a little, though. At least, he's talking."  
Starsky glanced over at Hutch. Minnie was with him; sitting beside him and talking softly to him. Minnie had been part of the station ever since he and Hutch had joined the force. She had a soft spot for the two young detectives, helping them with their cases whenever she could. Whenever things got tough, Minnie would ease the pressure by kidding around with them.  
Now her face was serious, her voice gentle. She was trying to coax Hutch out of his shell and she was succeeding. He was answering her questions, if only in one or two words, nodding once in a while in response to something she was saying. She was holding a cup of coffee and was coaxing him into taking small sips.  
"Can I talk to him, Doc?"  
"If you mean interrogate him, he's not in any condition to answer questions. He's very close to the edge right now, and the wrong word could send him over."  
"Doc, we need somethin' to go on; a description of the suspect, the gun, anything. We're flying blind here."  
"All right. It's against my better judgment, but I know what you mean. Take it easy on him, and don't push."  
Starsky nodded at the doctor, then walked over to Hutch. He sat down in front of him.   
"Hey, partner, how we doin'?"  
Hutch shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm all right, I guess. I'm tired, though."  
"I know buddy. Hutch, did you see what the guy looked like? Was it a man, or a woman? Anything that you could tell us would help."  
"It was a man; about five-nine; medium build."  
"Could you see his face?"  
"No, he was wearing a black ski mask and black gloves. I think he was white, though. You could see a patch of skin between his glove and the sleeve of his jacket, and it was white."  
"Do you remember what he was wearing?"  
"Um, dark blue windbreaker, maybe a black t-shirt, worn out jeans, and black tennis shoes. I think they were black, I'm not sure. It happened so fast."  
Starsky reached out and squeezed his arm. "It's OK, you're doing fine. What about the gun? Was it a pistol, or maybe a rifle?"  
"A...pistol. It was an automatic, maybe a 45. I can't remember." He looked up at Starsky, eyes full of pain. "Oh, God, Starsk. We were--," he stopped and swallowed, then continued.   
"There was a crash, then he was there." He reached for Starsky's hands, almost pleading for understanding. "I tried to stop him! Oh, God, I tried!"  
Unable to continue, he slumped forward, covering his face with his hands. Doctor Massey's voice was sharp, leaving no room for protests.  
"That's enough! He can't take anymore. What he needs right now is a good strong sedative and a hospital bed, not more questions."  
"No! No hospital. I don't need to go to a hospital. I'm just tired, that's all. Please, I'm just tired. I just want to go home."   
Massey knelt beside Hutch, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Ken, I don't want you to be alone right now. That's the last thing that you need."  
Starsky spoke up. "He won't be alone. He can bunk with me for a while."  
Doctor Massey nodded reluctantly. "All right. I still think you need to be in a hospital, Ken, but I can't force you to go. I'm going to give you a mild sedative, then, to help you sleep. I want to see you tomorrow, OK?"  
Hutch closed his eyes, exhausted. He nodded without opening them, and replied, "Yeah, whatever you say, Doc. Can I please go home, now?"  
Massey took another syringe from his bag and filled it. Rolling up Hutch's sleeve, he injected the sedative. "There. It won't take effect for a little while, which will give you time to get to Dave's. I'll see you tomorrow. If you need me before then, don't hesitate to call me at home."  
Starsky nodded and stood up. He offered his hand to Hutch. "Come on, let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

Starsky unlocked the door of his apartment and let Hutch go in first. He walked to the middle of the room and stood, swaying slightly.   
"Sit down, buddy. Hutch, can you hear me?"  
Hutch slowly sat down on the couch and leaned back, closing his eyes and relaxing slightly.  
"Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?"  
Hutch shook his head. "No, I don't want any food. I... I don't want anything."  
"OK. Look, what you need is a good night's sleep. Hey, I'll even let you have the bed; I'll take the couch. You know where the bathroom is. Why don't you wash up and hit the sack? We'll talk in the morning. OK?"  
Hutch nodded and went into the bathroom. His movements were slow and painful. Numbly, he washed his face, carefully avoiding the mirror. He knew that if he looked, he would see something besides his face. He walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Hutch stood for a moment, looking at the bed. Suddenly, Starsky's brightly colored bedspread was gone and in its place was a blood-soaked sheet with Chris' mangled body lying on top. His stomach revolted and he bolted back into the bathroom. He vomited violently; his head pounding and his ears roaring as the nightmare threatened to swallow him.   
Then Starsky was beside him, catching him as he dropped to his knees. Half-carrying him, Starsky took him back into the living room and onto the couch. Hutch was ranting, barely coherent.  
"He killed her oh God he killed her I tried to stop it but it was so fast I couldn't get to my gun fast enough and oh God! She was dead before I could stop it! I tried I swear I tried but I couldn't do anything! I should have done something! I should have... I tried but oh God there was nothing I could do!!"  
"Hutch!" Starsky was kneeling in front of him, gripping him tightly by his arms. "Damn it, calm down! Look at me, damn it!"  
He shook him, trying to pull Hutch out of the hysteria that gripped him. "Snap out of it! If you don't calm down, I'm going to take you to the hospital myself. Hutch, do you hear me?"  
Somehow, what he had said penetrated, quieting Hutch. He sat there, eyes closed, rocking back and forth. He clutched himself tightly, arms crisscrossed against his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was slower, more coherent. Still, Starsky could hear the underlying tinge of hysteria.  
"I tried to stop him. I went for my gun, but it was too late. We shouldn't have been...I didn't know. I should have known. I should have done something. I... should... have been able to do...something." At last, he relaxed, leaning back against the couch.  
Starsky knew that if he kept him quiet long enough, the sedative would finally take effect. He sat beside him on the couch and squeezed his shoulder gently.   
"You're beatin' yourself up over nothing. There was nothing you could do. Now, lie down and try to sleep. Things'll look better in the morning."  
Hutch lay down on the couch, not moving as Starsky took off his boots and covered him with a blanket. Starsky sat beside him as he drifted off to sleep. He nodded to himself, satisfied that Hutch would be all right.  
Starsky went into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. It had been a long, exhausting night. He slept fitfully, alert for any movement from Hutch.  
The next morning, he got up before Hutch and called Huggy Bear. Huggy was a close friend and their pipeline to the street. At times, he was like a silent partner, helping them solve their most difficult cases. Starsky knew he would need all the help he could get on this one. He was drinking his second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door.  
Huggy appeared, carrying a small package under his arm. Starsky silenced him with a finger to his lips. Motioning Huggy to follow, Starsky went into the kitchen where they could talk without waking Hutch.  
"Want some coffee, Hug?"  
"Yeah, thanks. Hey, I brought Hutch a change of rags and his shaving kit from his pad. How's he doing?"  
"How do you think he's doing? How would you feel if you went through what he did last night?"  
"Man, I can't even imagine! That's way beyond my worst nightmare!"  
"Mine, too. Did you come up with anything?"  
"Nada. There's not a whisper about a hit, let alone one tied with Hutch. Don't worry. I've called in favors all over town. Something will turn."  
"I hope so, Hug. I don't have much to go on and I don't know how much help Hutch is going to be."  
"What about the girl? I remember the story she did on you guys, but that's about it. Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill her?"  
"No, but I have a feeling it had to do with a story. Maybe she was doing some research and got into something she shouldn't have. Chris was the type that once she smelled a story she didn't let go, no matter what. Maybe this time it got her killed."  
"Do you think she told Hutch if she was into something big?"  
"I don't know. I hope so. I hope he's in better shape when he wakes up so he can answer some questions."  
"Let's hope so. Look, I'll keep digging from my end. If I get something, I'll let you know. I'll catch you later."  
"OK, Hug. If I'm not here, I'll make sure Dobey knows where I am, if you need me."  
Huggy saw himself out. Starsky sat at the table, sipping coffee and thinking. If Chris did die because of something she was working on, how the Hell was he supposed to find out? In another hour he could call San Francisco and get hold of the paper where she worked. Perhaps they could put him onto something. He was so deep in thought that when the phone rang, he jumped. He grabbed it on the first ring, glancing to make sure Hutch was still asleep. Hutch stirred slightly, then was still.  
"Starsky."  
"Dobey. How's he doing this morning?"  
"He's still asleep. Did the reports come back yet?"  
` "The preliminary reports did; we'll get the complete reports as soon as they're done. The autopsy was no surprise. Chris died from two gunshot wounds point-blank to the chest. Any one of them would have been fatal. She died instantly, of course."  
"Wait a minute, Cap. There were only two shots? The desk clerk said he heard three."  
"The report says two. Who fired the other shot?"  
"I don't know, Cap. Did ballistics check Hutch's gun? He said he went for it."  
"I would assume they did. It's SOP in any shooting when an officer is involved. I don't see it here, though. I'll check with the lab."  
"What about the lab reports? What did they say?"  
"No surprises there, either. They didn't even try to run prints since Hutch said the suspect wore gloves. There's no mention of a third bullet, though. I wonder where it went."  
"So do I, Captain. Are they still there?"  
"Yes, Gliden's in charge. Why?"  
"I think I'll give them a call and see if they've found that third slug."  
"That's a good idea. Are you coming to the station?"  
"Not for a while. I want to let Hutch sleep as long as possible. If I decide to take off, I'll let you know where I am. I told Huggy to call you if he needed me."  
Starsky hung up the phone and glanced again at Hutch. He was still sleeping. Starsky dialed the Broadway's number and asked the desk clerk for room 302.  
A cautious voice answered, "Hello?"  
"This is Starsky. Let me speak to Gliden."  
"It's me, Starsk. What's up?"  
"I just talked to Captain Dobey. The autopsy report on the victim said she was killed by two gunshots, not three. That means there is a slug missing. See if you can find it, Bob. Look around the doorframe, and by the window above the fire escape. Hutch wasn't clear on how the suspect got out of the room, and the desk clerk was too busy looking after his own head to be much help."  
"Sure thing, Starsk. If that slug's here, we'll find it. Where will you be?"  
"Try my apartment first, then the station. I'll probably be there most of the day."  
Hutch woke up as Starsky hung up for the second time. At first, he was disoriented, not sure of where he was. He sat up slowly, looking around. Then he remembered where he was and why. The whole nightmare came rushing back at him. He lay back and closed his eyes, forcing the images to the back of his mind where he could handle them. Cautiously, he sat up again, shaking his head to dispel the after-effects of the sedative. He stood up and stretched, trying to ease the tension already building in his shoulders and neck. It was only then that he noticed Starsky sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee.   
"Mornin'," Starsky said as he watched his partner carefully. "Want some coffee?"  
"Sure. No, don't get up. I know where everything is; I can get it myself."  
"How do you feel?"  
Hutch shrugged in response as he fixed his coffee. He sat down in the chair opposite Starsky, not saying anything. When he spoke his voice was barely audible.  
"Anything yet?"  
"Not much. She was shot with a 45 caliber automatic at close range. No one saw the guy go in or out. So far our search hasn't turned up anything. Did you remember anything else?"  
"No. He was just there. I couldn't see his face. I remember grabbing for my gun, but it was too late."  
"Did you use it?"  
"Use what?"  
"Your gun. Did you manage to get a shot off?"  
"I'm not sure. Maybe. Why?"  
"The desk clerk heard three shots. We can only account for two of them. Maybe the third shot came from your gun."  
"I can't remember, Starsk. Why is it so important?"  
"If you did get a shot off, maybe you winged him. Which way did he go?"  
"Which way did he go? How the Hell do I know?"  
Starsky was patient, but firm. "The only other way out of the room was the window on the left side of the bed. That's the one that leads to the fire escape. He would've had to go past you to get to it. If he did, and you fired at him, maybe you hit him. That would give us something to look for, at least. Now try to remember. Which way did he go?"  
Hutch closed his eyes and tried to think. He spoke slowly, "I don't remember him going past me. I think he was standing at the foot of the bed. I pulled the trigger, but I don't think I hit him. He must have run out the door. I don't know. I honestly don't remember."  
"OK, then let's back up a little. When did Chris first get in touch with you?"  
"Last night, or rather, yesterday afternoon. I hadn't heard from her in almost three months, until then."  
"It must've been after we got off duty."  
Hutch thought back to the phone call. It seemed like eons ago. He had just arrived home, and was about to jump in the shower when the phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring.  
"Hutchinson."  
"Hello, stranger."  
He was surprised to hear her voice. "Hello yourself. Are you in town?"  
"Yep, I blew in today. How have you been, Ken?"  
"Oh, can't complain; you know how it is. So, how long can you stay?"  
"I'm not sure, yet. How about buying a pushy broad a drink, big boy?"  
He'd laughed, then. Her Mae West was lousy. "Well, I usually don't date pushy broads, but in this case, I'll make an exception. Where and when?"  
"Do you know where the Fortress is? It's a nightclub on the East Side."  
"I know it. I can be there in twenty minutes."  
"Great. It will be good to see you again, Ken."  
Starsky had been listening, trying to judge her mood. When Hutch finished, he thought for a minute. Whatever had been going on in her mind at the time, she apparently had decided not to tell Hutch, at least not over the phone.  
"Did you meet her?"  
"Yeah. She seemed fine. She looked good. As far as I could tell, nothing was wrong."  
"What happened next?"  
Hutch thought back again. When he walked into the club, she had been sitting in a booth, sipping a glass of water. He asked her if she wanted a drink, but she declined. She had kissed him, but remained standing.  
"So," he said, "do you want to go somewhere else? We can eat out, or we can go back to my apartment. I'm sure I can put something together there."  
"You know, I'm feeling kind of restless. Would you mind if we just club-hopped for a while?"  
"If that's what you want."  
Starsky cocked his head. "Did she act edgy, or scared, maybe?"  
Hutch sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. If she did, I didn't notice it."  
"OK, go on. What happened after that?"  
Hutch opened his mouth and started to speak, then stopped. He couldn't remember what happened after they left the club. He concentrated, trying to clear his head. It was all blank. *Damn it, think! What happened after you left the Fortress? Think!*  
He looked at Starsky, alarm creeping into his voice. "I can't remember anything that happened after we left the club. It's all gone! I don't remember anything until.."  
He flew out of the chair and paced around the kitchen.   
Starsky tried to regain control of the situation. "It's all right. Calm down. We'll figure it out."  
Hutch slammed his fist against the wall. "It's NOT all right, Starsky! Don't you understand? I can't remember what happened!"  
Starsky stopped Hutch before he could hit the wall again. He spun him around and held him against the wall.  
"It's all right," he repeated. "It'll come back, just give it time. I'm not surprised something like this happened. You're in shock. Give yourself a chance to get over this."  
"Starsk, we don't HAVE any time. How are we supposed to figure out who killed Chris if I can't remember what happened after we left the club?"  
"We'll manage. Come back and sit down." He led Hutch back to the table and pulled his chair around so he could face him.  
"Hutch, look at me. That's better. Now listen to me. We'll try something you do know. You knew Chris better than I did. Where did she sell most of her work? Was it still the Tribune?"  
"Yes, as far as I know. She did some work for the local magazines, too."  
"Were there any in particular?"  
"No, she freelanced for several. She called the magazines her bread and butter work; it paid the rent. She'd write everything from fashion to human interest, whatever they wanted. The more serious work she sold to the newspapers. She was always hunting for the one big story. She wanted to break the next Watergate. Everything else was fluff, to pay the bills."  
"You said you hadn't seen her for about three months. Was she working on something then?"  
"She had just sold a story to the Dispatch down here. They were still on good terms. When she left, they told her they'd keep buying her work. They liked her style."  
"Did she say if she was going to start on anything else? Or, if she was doing any research?"  
"No. She was down here for almost a week. We saw each other quite a bit. As far as I know, she didn't go back to work until she went back to San Francisco."  
"OK, we should be able to contact the Tribune in a little while. Maybe they can tell us if she was working on anything."   
He poured them both another cup of coffee. When he sat back down, he changed the subject slightly.  
"Did she have a place in San Francisco?"  
"Yes, she shared an apartment with another girl. I can't remember her name. Chris said it was senseless to keep an apartment herself when she wasn't home most of the time. So she chipped in her half of everything so she'd have a place to stay when she was there."  
"We can get the name of her roommate from the paper, in case we end up making a trip to 'Frisco. What about here? Where did she stay?"  
"I don't know. I know she let her apartment go when she moved. I guess she stayed in a hotel."  
"What hotel?"  
"Damn it, Starsky, I told you I don't remember! I don't even think she told me."  
"You don't have to remember. Think. When she came here before, was there a particular hotel where she stayed?"  
Hutch put his head in his hands, trying to think. His head was pounding again. All he wanted to do was crawl in a hole somewhere. He forced himself to consider the question rationally. Finally, he shook his head.  
"I don't think so. She liked several of them. It depended on what was available."  
"We'll have to start calling around, then. If she booked a room somewhere in town, we'll find it. Maybe we'll find something that will tell us why she was here."  
"Starsk, it'll take days to find the right hotel. Anyway, we don't even know for sure that she checked into one before she called me. God, why can't I remember?"  
"Hutch, take it easy. Look, that's enough for now. When's the last time you ate anything? Do you want some breakfast? I don't have any of that glop you drink, but I'm sure I can find something."  
Hutch's stomach jumped. "No, I don't want anything. Maybe later."  
"All right, but you need to eat soon. You've got to keep up your strength."  
"I know. I'm just not hungry right now. Besides, I don't think it would do any good."  
"OK. Hey, Huggy brought a change of clothes for you and your shaving kit. Why don't you get cleaned up and we'll check in with Dobey? Maybe he'll have something for us. Besides, Doc Massey said he wanted to see you this morning."  
"Sure, why not?" Hutch stood and stretched again. His neck and shoulders were in knots. Maybe a hot shower was what he needed. He picked up the bag and went into the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Hutch knocked on Dr. Massey's door, and stepped inside. He stood patiently as the doctor looked him over, smiling slightly.  
"I'm still here, Doc."  
"So I see. I've been expecting you. Come on over to the table and we'll see how you're doing."  
Hutch sat patiently as Massey examined him, answering the doctor's questions truthfully. After he finished writing in Hutch's file, Massey looked up again.  
"So, did the sedative wear off all right?"  
"Yes."  
"Have you eaten anything yet?"  
"No. Right now food is the last thing on my mind."  
Dr. Massey sat back in his chair and gazed speculatively at Hutch. "Really. What you mean is that you don't think you could keep it down, right?"  
"Something like that."  
"I see." He got up and walked over to a small medicine cabinet. Reaching in, he took two capsules from a bottle on the top shelf. Stopping to draw a cup of water from the cooler, he offered the capsules and the water to Hutch.  
"What is it?"  
"They're vitamin supplements. Try to at least drink some fluids if you can, but don't force any solid food until you feel you're ready. It won't do you any good if you can't keep it down. How are you feeling otherwise?"  
"I've had better days."  
"Don't waste my time, Ken. That wasn't a rhetorical question. How do you feel?"  
Hutch sat forward in the chair. "Like I've stepped into a nightmare. I know any minute now I'm going to wake up, but when I did, it just got worse."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I can't remember anything, Doc. From the time I met Chris, until...it happened, I don't remember ANYTHING."  
"That's not surprising, Ken. I've seen this before in trauma cases like yours. You don't have to sustain a severe blow to the head to suffer memory loss. In your case, however, I believe your memory will return, eventually."  
Hutch was agitated. "Doc, I can't wait that long. Starsky and I are working in the dark here. I'm the only one who knows what happened yesterday between the time I met Chris and when she was murdered, and I can't remember. We're right back to square one!"  
"I know this is a set back for the case, Ken, but time is the only thing that will take care of this. There's nothing you can do to change that. Where are you headed now?"  
"I'm meeting Starsky in Captain Dobey's office. We need to go over the reports from the lab and find a place to start."  
"I'm headed that way myself. I'll walk up with you."  
As they walked, Dr. Massey continued. "You know, your memory will come back. Trying to force it won't make it happen any sooner. Let it come naturally. Time isn't your enemy, Ken, it's your friend. It's what you need most right now."  
"Unfortunately, Doc, we don't have much time. The longer we wait, the colder the trail gets. If we don't get a break pretty soon, we may never know who killed Chris, or why."  
Massey followed Hutch into Dobey's office. Instead of looking at Hutch, Dobey looked at the doctor.  
Massey shook his head. "I'm taking him off duty, Captain. He's on medical leave, starting immediately."  
Hutch glared at the doctor.   
"What?!"  
Massey looked back calmly. "I'm taking you off the duty roster, Ken. I'm declaring you unfit for duty."  
"Why?"  
"Your blood pressure is elevated; you're complaining of severe nausea; you're tense; stressed out; and by your own admission, you're still in a state of shock. You are in no condition to work. You need time to get over this, and I have the authority to see that you take that time."  
Hutch's anger was barely controlled. "Let me tell you what you can do, DOCTOR. You can put me on sick leave if you want, you can suspend me," his voice rose, "you can take this badge and shove it! No matter what you do, you can't stop me from working on this case. As soon as you put me on leave, I'm going to walk out that door and I'm going back to work. There's nothing you can do to stop me, because what I do on my own time is my own damn business."   
He threw his badge on Captain Dobey's desk and walked out.  
Dobey rose out of his chair, put his hands on his desk and roared. "Hutchinson, get back in here!"  
Hutch slowly appeared in the doorway. He came back into the room and stood silently, watching Dobey. When he didn't say anything, Dobey spoke.  
"Now you listen to me, Hutchinson. You are on leave. That does not give you the right to interfere in an on-going investigation."  
"I really don't give a damn what it gives me or doesn't give me, Captain. I'm going to find out who killed Chris, and why. Now, if I have to resign from the force to do that, I will. If you think I'm going to go home and bury myself under the covers, you are sadly mistaken." He stood quietly, keeping his anger leashed.  
Dobey looked at Massey, and Massey shrugged. They both knew that if they put Hutch on leave, they would lose control over him.  
Massey was grim. "You have me over a barrel, Ken. You know that, don't you? All right. You'll stay on the roster for now, but let me tell you something, my young friend. I want to see you every day. If I get the slightest hint that you are in real trouble, I'll yank you off that roster and slap you in a hospital so fast it will make your head spin. Do you hear me?"  
"Yeah, Doc, I hear you." Hutch stalked out of the room.  
Starsky looked from the doctor to Captain Dobey and shrugged. "Now what?"  
Dr. Massey answered him. "Watch him closely, Dave. If he starts to fall apart, get in touch with me immediately. I don't like keeping him on this case, but I don't want him going off on his own, either. That won't do him, or this investigation, any good."  
"OK, I'll do my best, Doc. Captain, if anything breaks, I'll let you know."  
When Starsky walked out of Dobey's office, Hutch was sitting at their desk, his head in his hands. *If this damned headache would go away, it would make things a whole lot easier.* Starsky's steady gaze disconcerted him, so he got up and poured himself a cup of coffee.   
"So," he asked calmly, "where do we start?"  
"Well, someone should be at the Tribune by now. We can try them first."  
"It's worth a try."  
Starsky plowed through several secretaries and finally got through to the senior editor. What he had to say was not encouraging.   
"Well?"  
"He said that if Chris was working on anything, he didn't know about it. It's been over a month since she submitted anything. He didn't even know she was in town."  
"Well, that's just great! So now what? We don't know if she was working on a story. We don't know if she checked into a hotel when she got here. We don't know any more now than we did when we started!"  
"That's not quite true, partner. He did give me the address and phone number of her roommate. Her name is Cindy Friedman. I'll see if I can catch her at home."  
Starsky dialed the number he'd written down, but no one answered. "Well, she's probably left for work already. We can try her again, later."  
"So, any more bright ideas, partner?"  
"Yes. I'm going to call the Dispatch. We'll have them send us copies of her last few stories. That should give us an idea of what she'd been doing lately. Maybe we can tell what she was planning to do next."  
"Well, at least it's an idea. Who knows? We might get lucky."  
Starsky called the Dispatch and got through to the head of the department where Chris submitted her stories. They agreed to send her stories and the research for the past six months over to them.   
"Well, they said they'd send it sometime this afternoon. I guess while we're waiting, I could check in with Huggy."  
Huggy answered on the second ring. "Huggy's Pits, Huggy speaking."  
"It's me, Hug. How's it goin'?"  
"Not to worry, Starsk. The word's out on the street. If this was a local hit, somebody's bound to know about it. Whoever this scum is, he won't be able to resist bragging about blowing Chris away with Hutch in the room. You guys aren't exactly popular with some of the more dubious citizens down here. Believe me, I let everybody know that you wanted to hear about anything connected to the murder."  
"I just hope it was local, Huggy. If it wasn't, we're really in trouble. Well, if you hear anything, let me know. I'll check in later."  
As Starsky hung up the phone, a messenger arrived with the final report from the crime lab. Starsky skimmed it quickly, keeping it away from Hutch. The last thing Hutch needed was a reminder of last night. He looked up and noticed Hutch watching him patiently. Starsky was relieved when Hutch didn't reach for the report, but only asked if there was anything new.  
"Not really. They did find your slug, though. It was embedded in the doorframe about midway on the left side. There was no evidence of any other blood around the door, so you didn't hit him. Too bad. That might have given us a real break."  
"Yeah, I know. I really didn't think I did, though. My aim wasn't exactly true."  
Shortly after noon, the messenger from the Dispatch brought over Chris' files. Fortunately for them, Chris went for quality rather than quantity. She had submitted only five articles in the last six months. They divided them up, and started going over them. There was still a lot of material to cover when Starsky felt his stomach growl. He suggested to Hutch that they take a break and get something to eat. Hutch agreed to the break, but when they arrived at Huggy's, he ordered only a glass of juice.  
Starsky looked at the glass. "Don't you think you'd better try to eat something, partner? It's probably been about twenty-four hours since you last ate."  
"I know. I just don't have the stomach for it right now, Starsk. Doc said as long as I drink something, I could handle not eating for a little while. He gave me some vitamins take in the meantime."  
Starsky wasn't satisfied, but let the matter drop. Hutch was acting more like himself than he had since this whole thing began, so he didn't want to rock the boat by pushing the issue. Instead, he dived into the Huggy special in front of him, motioning for Huggy to join them.  
"So, Hug, what's new?"  
"Not much. So far, I haven't had any nibbles on the bait that I put out. You know how it goes; some sleazeball makes a big score and before long he's running his mouth about what a big man he is. Never fear, fellas. If there is one thing Huggy knows, it's the scum in this town. If something doesn't turn up in the next day or two, I'll eat the hat my favorite Aunt Maude sent me last Christmas."  
Starsky laughed, almost choking on his burger. "Huggy, I thought you said her name was Minnie. Which is it?"  
"Minnie or Maude, that's the question. I forget which. Anyway, it's irrelevant." Huggy smiled at his own wit, but his eyes were shrewd. He had noticed the change in Hutch. Finally, he was beginning to relax. If they could get him to unwind a little, maybe his memory would come back. They could sure use the break.   
"Seriously, though," he continued as he got up to refill their drinks, "as big as this thing seems to be, whoever did it won't be able to keep his mouth shut for long. As soon as I hear anything, I'll let you know."  
"Thanks, Hug. Well, we'd better get back to work. Huggy, we'll be at the station for a while longer, then at my place. If you hear anything, call me. I don't care what time it is. Got it?"  
"Got it. I'll keep in touch."  
The two detectives finished going through Chris' files. Her articles were relevant and illuminating, but gave no hint as to why she'd been murdered. The only article worth a second glance was about possible corruption in the construction industry. Careful not to divulge any specifics, Chris hinted that the contracts for new government buildings were awarded to those who had political ties. Starsky and Hutch knew that the construction business was highly competitive. If someone were buying the biggest contracts, it would definitely make some ripples. If Chris had stumbled onto something, whoever was behind it wouldn't be happy about her nosing around. Maybe they would even be willing to kill to keep it quiet.  
Starsky packed up the other articles and sent them back to the Dispatch.   
"It's getting late. Why don't we call it a day? We'll go back to my place, get a good night's sleep and hit it again in the morning."  
"Your place? I'm fine, Starsk. I don't need to go back to your place. I'll be fine at home."  
"Hutch, listen to me. You don't need to be alone right now. I know that Doc Massey would agree with me. You're coming home with me and that's final."   
Realizing that it was useless to argue, Hutch agreed to go back to Starsky's apartment. He agreed to try eating some soup to stop Starsky from nagging and settled down on the couch to sleep. Mercifully, the nightmares didn't come and both men were able to get some sleep.  
The next morning, they decided to look into the article Chris had written about the corruption in the construction industry. Both were aware of the magnitude of the research they were doing, so they concentrated on the companies she mentioned in her files. Finally, they got their first real lead. Throughout her files, the J.M. Clairmont Construction company was mentioned several times as coming out the winner on the largest contracts awarded in the past six months. Clairmont, they found, was a subsidiary of ClairCo. The principal stockholder was John Michael Clairmont, reputedly one of the wealthiest men in the country. Unfortunately, Clairmont Construction had never been implicated in any illegal practices in the twenty years it had been in business. Still, they groused, this was the first hint of a possible reason for Chris' murder. So they decided to check into ClairCo further, hoping to uncover something shady in it's background.  
Several hours later, Starsky rubbed his tired eyes and stretched, trying to relieve his aching back. He stood up slowly, feeling as if his knees were permanently bent. He got himself and Hutch a glass of water from the cooler.  
"I don't know about you, but I've had about all the reading I can stand for a while. I think we should get everything together that we've got so far, and take it downstairs to the computer wizards. That should save us some time and I know it would save my poor aching back."  
"Sounds good to me. Let's go."  
They stuffed everything into Chris' folder and headed for the R&amp;I department downstairs. They had barely gotten out of the squad room when an unhappy Dr. Massey confronted them.  
"I told you I wanted to see you every day, Ken. That wasn't open for negotiation. I meant it."  
Hutch was sincere. "I know you did, Doc. I honestly wasn't trying to skip out on you. We've been so busy that I haven't had time to get down there yet."  
"All right, I'll buy that. Now is as good a time as any. I mean it, Ken, no excuses."  
Hutch protested. "We were on our way to R&amp;I. We've finally got something and were taking some information down to put into the computer."  
"Well, Dave can do that while you stop in my office for a minute. It won't take long, but you are going to come down, now."  
Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks. Hutch shrugged.  
"You're the boss, Doc. Starsk, I'll be down there as soon as I can."  
Hutch followed the doctor down to his office. True to his word, Dr. Massey performed a quick examination.  
"Well, Ken, I've got to hand it to you. Your blood pressure is down and your color is much improved. Have you been able to eat anything?"  
Hutch nodded. "I ate some soup last night, and a light breakfast this morning. So far, I haven't had any problems. Are you satisfied, now?"  
Massey relented with a small smile. "Yes. You definitely seem to be pulling out of it. However, I still want to see you, at least for the next day or two."  
"Whatever you say Doc. Can I go now?"  
"You may. I want you to keep eating and try to get plenty of rest. I think that's probably going to be the best advice I can offer you. Time will have to take care of the rest. Has your memory started to come back yet?"  
"No, not yet. I wish the Hell it would, though."  
"I think it will, if you keep improving. As I said, take it easy for a while and make sure you take in at least some nourishment. Don't try to force your memory to return. It will take care of itself in time."  
"I guess you're right. I'll see you tomorrow, Doc."  
Hutch left the doctor and went to join Starsky in R&amp;I. He found him in a small cubicle in the back of the computer room, talking to Howard Ryan. Howard looked more like a flower child from Woodstock than a computer wizard. There had been rumors that Howard had been offered a lucrative position in the most profitable computer firm in the country, but had turned it down. He said he preferred the excitement of working in the police department. Hal possessed an uncanny knack for ferreting out the most relevant facts in a case. Starsky had almost finished filling him in on what they had so far.  
"So, Hal, what's the word? Do you think you can sift something meaningful out of all this hooey?"  
"I can try. Give me a few hours on this and I'll see what I can do."  
"All right. We've got some other leads to run down, so we'll check back later."  
Hutch waited until they were out of the office, then said, "OK, Starsk, what other leads do we have?"  
"We need to find Chris' story. So we still need to find out if she checked into a hotel before she called you. So, that means we hit the phone book."  
Hutch stopped and stared. "Starsk, you've got to be kidding! Do you know how many hotels there are in this city? It will take us days to call all of them!"  
"We can skip the dives on Skid Row, and probably most of the inner city. We'll concentrate on the hotels closest to the airport and branch out from there. That ought to cut it down some."  
"Well, I wish I could come up with a better idea, but I can't. So we might as well get to it."  
They divided up the list of hotels and started calling. Although there were a lot of hotels to cover, it didn't take long to check their registers to see if Chris had booked a room. They knew the exact date, and Chris was attractive enough to remember. Instead of giving just her name, they asked for any female that matched her description. By the end of their shift, they had gone through half the hotels.   
"I think that's enough for today, don't you? Let's grab a bite to eat and go home." Starsky said.  
"Sounds good to me."  
They decided to stop at The Pits to eat so they could check in with Huggy. Even though he had nothing new to report, they didn't let it spoil their mood. Dinner was relaxed and amiable for the first time in days. By the time Huggy's clientele began to trickle in, Starsky and Hutch had finished their meal and ordered a beer.  
The three men were sitting at the table and talking when two more customers came into the bar. They sat at the bar, and for a while, all was quiet. Then, their voices rose as they started arguing among themselves. As Huggy and the two detectives watched, one man punched the other in the nose, knocking him off his stool. The man retaliated by picking up his beer and throwing it in the other's face. Before the conflict could escalate, Starsky and Hutch jumped up and grabbed each of the men by their shirt collars.  
"OK, boys," Starsky said, "let's settle down. Whatever's going on between you two, take it outside. OK?"  
The heavier and drunker of the two scowled at Starsky.  
"Oh, yeah? Who are you to tell us what to do, friend?"  
"I'm not your friend, friend. I'm a cop. So you can either take it outside, or my partner and I can take you and your buddy downtown to cool off. Now, which is it going to be?"  
Neither man was so drunk that the word "cop" didn't penetrate their sodden minds. After a few minutes grumbling and grousing, they staggered outside and down the street. Once the excitement was over, the rest of the customers went back to their own conversations. Huggy helped Diane, his senior barmaid, clean up the mess, then went back to Starsky and Hutch's table. As he was sitting down, he noticed Starsky watching Hutch carefully.  
Hutch was staring ahead, not looking at anything in particular. He looked thoughtful, as if concentrating deeply on something.  
Starsky kept his voice low so he wouldn't disturb Hutch's concentration.  
"What is it, buddy?"  
Hutch shook his head briefly. "I'm not sure. When we were watching those two men fight, I got a flash of something. It was just an image and lasted only for a second or two, but there was something there."  
"OK, just relax for a minute. Don't try to force it. Is it Chris?"  
"Yes, I think so." He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He spoke softly, slowly at first, then with more confidence. "We were sitting at a table somewhere. It wasn't the Fortress, but somewhere else. We were talking, not about anything in particular, just catching up. Then, I think she spotted somebody. Whoever it was, I think he scared her. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me. She wouldn't even tell me who it was that made her so afraid. That's when she wanted to leave. I tried to get her to come back to my apartment with me, but she said no. Instead, she suggested a hotel. I thought she meant hers, but she said she didn't want to go back there. We drove around for a while, not really headed anywhere. Somehow we ended up on Skid Row, and she said we should park the car and get a room. I tried to tell her it wasn't safe; that I couldn't protect her, but she insisted. So we picked the Broadway at random and checked in." He stopped talking and looked at Starsky. "That's all I remember."  
"Well, at least it's something. You did great, buddy. Don't push it. Look, it's been a long day. Why don't we head home and get some sleep? We'll pick this up in the morning. Maybe by then you'll remember something else."  
"OK. Huggy, if you hear anything..."  
"You'll be the first to know, I promise. I'll see you tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

Hutch reached into Starsky's cupboard for a coffee cup, knocking over the sugar bowl instead.  
"Damn it!" He grabbed a towel and swiped the mess into the sink, and threw the towel back onto the rack. He turned and saw Starsky gazing at him steadily.  
"Want to talk about it?" Starsky asked.  
"It's been three days, Starsk. Three days, and we're still grabbing at straws. While we're poking around in the dark, whoever killed Chris is out there, laughing at us."  
"We're doing all we can, Hutch. This is old-fashioned detective work. You plow through the mess and ferret out the important stuff. We've got Huggy looking out on his end, and we're following Chris' trail as best we can. We'll find him, Hutch, I promise. He won't get away with this."  
"How can you be so sure? The longer it takes, the colder the trail gets. We've got to find something solid to go on, and soon."  
"We will. All you have to do is keep yourself together. The legwork will take care of the rest."  
On the way to the station, Starsky thought about what he had said. *Keep yourself together, Hutch. You seem like you're doing that, but something's not quite right. Of course he's not quite right, you dummy. What he's been through is not going to disappear in a few days. Maybe that's what's wrong. Maybe he's a little too together. I don't know how I'd react to this, but I know it would take more than a few days to get over it. Maybe it hasn't really sunk in yet. God only knows what he'll do when it does.*  
They checked in briefly with the Captain, then went back to the phone books. Since Hutch had remembered a little more, they were sure she had checked into a hotel that day. If Chris had been murdered because of an article she had written, maybe they would find evidence of that in her hotel room. They used the same routine as before, making fast work of the rest of the pages. They had almost reached the end of the list when they found the right one. The Sheraton Inn, which was only a few blocks from the Dispatch's main office, had checked a woman in matching Chris' description at three in the afternoon on that day.   
"She must have thrown her stuff in the room and called you right after she checked in." Starsky said. "If someone was after her because of a story she wrote, maybe she had it with her. Hopefully, she didn't have time to stash it anywhere else. I think what we need is a search warrant."   
The two detectives told Captain Dobey about what they had found and asked him to help them obtain a search warrant. He called Judge Shaw and talked to him, briefly. They would have the search warrant in a few hours, Shaw assured them.  
"You know," Dobey remarked, "it would save a lot of time if we had her key. Then you could go in legally, without a warrant."  
Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks. Hutch shrugged sheepishly.  
Starsky said, "Why didn't we think of that? All hotel keys have the name and address of the hotel on them, in case they're lost or stolen. We've spent the last two days wearing out our fingers on the phone, when all we had to do was get her key from her personal effects." He turned to Dobey. "Has Chris' clothes been released to her family yet, Captain?"  
"No. Her family lives in Seattle. They won't be here for a couple more days yet." His voice was stern. "I'd like to be able to tell her parents something concrete about this investigation when they do get here. Understand?"  
"We understand, Captain," Hutch answered. "We'd like to be able to tell them that we've made an arrest. We're going to do our best to do just that."  
"Good. Let me know how things are going. Now, get back to it. I'll call Property and let them know you're on your way."  
Starsky was halfway out of the squad room before he realized what they were about to do. He turned to Hutch, blocking his path.  
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.  
"The same place you are, Starsk; to the property room downstairs."  
"Oh, no you're not. Hutch, you don't have any business going down there. You really don't have any business going through Chris' clothes. Let me go down and find the key, and I'll meet you in the car."  
"No way! I can handle this, Starsky. I'm fine, really." When Starsky didn't move, his voice rose a notch. "Starsky, I'm going with you and that's final."  
The look Starsky gave him was full of exasperation. "What am I going to do with you? OK, I give, but I still think it's a mistake."  
Hutch smiled slightly. "Come on, we're wasting time."  
Despite his optimistic manner, Hutch hung back when they got downstairs. He let Starsky handle the paperwork, then followed him into the Property room. The clerk on duty brought out the small box that held Chris' clothes. Hutch watched as Starsky opened the box and took out the jacket Chris had worn. The room tilted sharply, and he swung around, clutching for the wall. He closed his eyes and hung on, waiting for the floor to go back to where it belonged. He felt Starsky's hands, holding on to him so that he could keep his balance. Hutch's breathing was labored as he fought the vertigo.  
"I'm sorry. I can't do it. You were right, this was a mistake. I just... I can't do it."  
"It's all right. Come on, sit down." Starsky helped him to the small couch outside the examining room. He left him long enough to grab the bottle of Scotch that Bailey kept for "medicinal purposes". He poured some in a paper cup and took it back to Hutch.  
"Here," he said, "drink it. All of it."  
Hutch coughed as the harsh liquor went down his throat. He kept his eyes closed and his head down as he fought the dizziness. Slowly, the room righted itself and he sat up.  
"OK? Hutch, are you all right?"  
Hutch nodded. "Yeah, I'm OK."  
"I want you to sit right here and wait for me. I'll only be a few minutes. Don't move, understand?"  
Hutch nodded again. Starsky left him and went back into the other room. He went through Chris' belongings quickly, searching her pockets for the hotel key. He cursed out loud as he fumbled for her purse, nearly dropping it. Forcing himself to slow down, he dumped the contents onto the table and carefully went through them. The key wasn't there. Picking up her wallet, he searched all the compartments. Sliding his fingers in each of them, he finally found the key behind her credit card. On the key was the name, Sheraton Inn, and the number, 1404. He pocketed the key and returned the rest of the contents to the box. Taking the box back to Bailey, he signed for the key and went back to Hutch.  
Hutch looked up as Starsky came toward him. "Did you find it?"  
"Yes, let's go."  
They showed their badges to the desk clerk and went up to Chris' room. Starsky unlocked the door and went in first. He took three steps into the room, far enough to let Hutch enter, then stopped. The two men looked around the room, then at each other. The room was in shambles. Pillows were ripped open, sheets torn off the bed, chairs were overturned and drawers were pulled out of the credenza. Chris' suitcase lay open on the bed, it's contents strewn all over the floor. Her make-up case lay upside down on the carpet, and her make-up was scattered all over the mattress.   
Hutch walked over to the bed and looked down at the mess. He picked up the bottle of make-up, juggling it in his hand as he looked at the chaos. Anger flashed across his face, and he threw the bottle against the wall.  
"Damn it! We're too damned late! Every time we think we're getting ahead of this, we end up being a step behind! There's no telling how long ago they were here. It could have been days!"  
"I know that, Hutch, but we can't do anything about it now. Well, there's nothing for us to see here. Let's go back to the station and try to figure out what to do next."  
Starsky headed for the door and waited for Hutch to join him. With a last disgusted look at the mess, he closed the door behind him.  
They rode back to the station in silence. Neither spoke until they were back at their desks.  
"I guess we'd better let the Captain know that someone beat us to Chris' room." Starsky said. "Why don't you start on the report while I talk to Dobey?"  
Hutch nodded. He sat for a moment, then snatched a piece of paper and jammed it into the typewriter. He pounded out the words, slapping the carriage back with an open hand. When he was finished, he yanked out the paper and grabbed for Chris' file. When he opened the folder, pictures of the crime scene jumped out at him. He lifted the picture of Chris' face from the pile and gazed at it. He sat there looking at it, and thought about how they would be viewed.   
*They won't know who you were. They won't know how beautiful or how talented you were. They won't care that you never got to write that one great story. They've never held you close, or watched your eyes light up with laughter. They won't care.*   
As he sat looking at her picture, he could see her as she was that night. In his mind, he could see her looking at him.  
*"Why, Ken? Why did you let this happen to me?"  
I tried, Chris. I honestly tried, but I didn't know. You wouldn't tell me. I did the best that I could; I swear I did.  
"Did you? Did you really do everything you could? Wasn't there anything you could have done?"*  
His answer was soft, tortured. "No. Please, no."  
Suddenly, he couldn't stand looking at her face any longer. He flung the folder away from him. The fury in him boiled over, and he stood, tossing his chair aside. With a tormented cry, he lashed out, not caring what he hit or destroyed. He swept everything off their desks with one arm. He ransacked the entire squad room, turning tables over, throwing chairs against the wall, and tipping filing cabinets over on their sides. The four other detectives in the squad room tried to restrain him, fearing he would injure himself. He threw them aside without effort or second thought.  
Hearing the noise, Starsky rushed out of Dobey's office to see what was happening. The first thing he saw was Don Baker flying across the room after grabbing Hutch's arm. James Dayton was hanging valiantly onto his other arm. With a slight movement of his shoulder, Hutch threw him against the wall. Ignoring the other two detectives that were trying to stop him, Hutch turned and reached for the tall filing cabinet against the back wall. Effortlessly, he pulled it over with a resounding crash. As he moved again, his hand connected with the coffee maker and he lashed out at it. There was another crash as he encountered the pot. Broken glass and hot coffee flew as his hand shattered it.  
Together, all five men went for Hutch. The four other detectives grabbed for Hutch's arms and legs while Starsky went low, pinning Hutch against the wall by his waist. Hutch fought back, not caring whom it was that held him. Chris' face hung before him, her eyes growing ever larger. He lashed out at his captors, struggling to free himself. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the rage left him and he collapsed against the wall. Slowly, the four men released him. Only Starsky kept his hold on him, alert for another outburst.   
Hutch slid down the wall. "I'm sorry. Dear God, I'm so sorry!"  
Starsky half-carried him into Dobey's office. He sat beside Hutch, offering what little comfort he could give. Minutes later, Dr. Massey appeared.  
The doctor sat on couch and squeezed Hutch's shoulder gently.  
"Ken, this has gone far enough. Why don't you let me give you something to help you rest, then Dave and I will take you to the hospital?"  
Hutch shook his head. "No, I don't want to go to the hospital. Please, I don't want to go."  
"Hutch, the doc's right. You're hurting; you need help. You can't handle this on your own."  
"Yes, I can. I'm all right now. Really. Please don't make me go. I want to see this through. I have to. Please, Starsk, I just need a minute. I'll be all right."  
Starsky looked at Dr. Massey, his eyes questioning him. Massey shrugged and shook his head.  
"I'm against it, Ken. You need medical treatment. You can't go on like this much longer. If you won't check yourself into the hospital, I can't force you. At least let me give you something to calm you down. I promise I won't give you anything that will knock you out."  
Hutch nodded. He sat quietly as the doctor gave him another injection.  
"There, just sit here for a little while and give it time to work. You'll feel better in a few minutes."  
He helped Hutch sit back against the couch, then motioned for Dobey and Starsky to follow him. When they were far enough away that Hutch couldn't hear them, he spoke.  
"I'm going out on a limb, here. He doesn't have any business staying on this case, but my hands are tied. I definitely don't want him running around on his own."  
"Can't you admit him, Doctor?" Dobey asked. "You said yourself that he needs medical attention. Isn't there anything you can do?"  
"I can walk into a judge's chamber and try to have him committed. A judge might even go along with it. Is that what you want me to do, Captain?"  
Dobey shook his head. "No, of course not. I wish there were something we could do to help him."  
"All we can do for the time being is watch him and make sure he doesn't harm himself. I'm afraid most of that is going to fall on your shoulders, Dave. You're the one who's with him most of the time. I know how difficult your job is going to be. You're going to have to solve this case and keep your partner together at the same time. He's afraid that if I give him something strong enough to put him out, he'll wake up in the hospital. That's exactly what I'd like to do. The only hope I can offer is that he pulled himself out of it once. Maybe he'll do it again."  
Starsky answered, "Unless something else happens to knock him back down. What about his memory, Doc? What do you think he's blocking out?"  
"Oh, you mean besides having the woman he was making love to blown away?"  
Starsky's reply was tolerant. "He remembers that, Doc. Could he be blocking something else out? Something that he can't handle right now?"  
Massey sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, Dave. It's possible. What could be worse than seeing Christine shot?"  
"I wish I knew. I just have the feeling there's more to this than we know."  
"Well, whatever is bothering him, you'd better find out before he does."  
"You lost me, Doc. What do you mean?"  
"He can't handle any more right now. He needs professional help in dealing with this situation. He's very close to the edge already. If he regains his memory before he's capable of dealing with the trauma, it could send him over."   
"Well, that's great. I'm supposed to solve this case and keep my partner from falling apart at the seams. If that isn't enough, I'm supposed to make sure he doesn't remember whatever it is that he can't handle before he's ready to handle it. There's nothing to it, Doc. Is there anything else you want me to do? Why don't I solve the energy crisis in my spare time?"  
"I know it sounds impossible, Starsky. Until I can convince Hutch to check himself into a hospital, that's all we can do. I'm sorry that the burden lies on you."  
Starsky sighed. "It's not your fault, Doc. Well, I might as well get back to work. Do you think he'll be all right now?"  
"Yes, the medication should be working by now. It should help him for a while, at least. Do you know what you're going to do next?"  
"I haven't got the slightest idea. We sent the lab boys over to the Sheraton. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll pick up some prints or something."  
Dobey snorted. "They haven't so far. Do you still think something Chris was working on got her killed?"  
"I'm sure of it, Cap. There isn't any other logical explanation. Chris was a good reporter. She went after the hottest stories. This time she stepped on the wrong person's toes. I think if we find her last article, we'll find whoever's responsible for her death."  
"So that means you've got to find that article."  
"Yeah. I'm going to try to find which airline she used. Maybe she rented a locker before she left the airport. Maybe she asked them to hold something for her, I don't know. I doubt that it's going to be that easy, but it's worth a try. So, Captain, Doc, I'll check with you later."  
He went over to sit beside Hutch. "Hey partner, how's it goin'?"  
Hutch rubbed his face and sat forward. "I'm all right, Starsk. Don't worry about me."  
"OK, so, are you ready to get back to work?"  
"Yeah, I think so. What do you have in mind?"  
"I think we should try the airlines. We need to find out which one she used and when she got here. Maybe we can pick up her trail from the airport. That's not exactly a brainstorm, but it's all I can think of right now."  
An hour later, Starsky turned to Hutch.  
"Well, she came in on the Delta Shuttle. Her plane landed at one o'clock that afternoon. That gives her plenty of time to stash the story before she went to the hotel. The clerk that I talked to said they don't have a record of her renting a locker, or putting anything in their safe."  
"So there's two hours between the time her plane landed and she went to the hotel. Then, another two hours before she called me. That's four hours that we don't know about. She could have done anything and gone anywhere during that time."  
"I know that, Hutch. It stands to reason that if she were afraid for her life, she'd stash that story where you could find it. We just have to keep digging."  
Downstairs, Dr. Massey continued working on Hutch's case. He had requested copies of the reports from the crime lab and the autopsy report. After reading the autopsy, he called the county coroner's office.  
"Coroner's office, Garner speaking."  
"This is Dr. Massey from the Metropolitan Precinct. I was reading the autopsy report on Christine Phelps and realized that this is only a preliminary report. Could you tell me if the final report has been finished and when it will be sent over?"  
"Of course, Doctor, let me check and see. Could you hold for a minute, please?"  
A minute later, the clerk was back. "Here it is, Doctor. It was due to be sent over there this afternoon. Would you like me to have a courier run it over to you now?"  
"Yes, that would be helpful. I'm on the first floor. Thank-you."  
Dr. Massey was going over the final report when there was a soft knock on his door. Dr. Kevin Marshall was the physician in charge at County General Hospital. Dr. Massey had filled him in on Hutch's condition, in the event he was needed.   
Dr. Marshall noticed the look on Massey's face as he read the report. "What's wrong, Stewart?"  
"This is the final autopsy report on Christine Phelps. I think we have the answer."  
"What answer is that?"  
"Sergeant Starsky wanted to know if Hutch could be repressing something that happened before Chris was shot. I think I just found out what it is." He handed the report to his colleague.  
Dr. Marshall read the report silently. "Oh, my God. What are you going to do?"  
Dr. Massey picked up the phone and dialed a number.  
"Starsky."  
"This is Dr. Massey. I need to see you, right away. I don't want Hutch to know we're talking, so come alone."  
"Sure, whatever you say. I'll be down in a minute."  
Starsky cursed under his breath. What now? He looked over at Hutch, who was watching him curiously.  
Starsky shook his head. "It's nothing important. There's been a mix-up with the R&amp;I file. I need to go straighten it out. Look, why don't you start calling the bus stations? See if they keep records on who rents their lockers. It's a long shot, but she had to stash her stuff someplace."  
"OK, I'll try anything at this point."  
"I'll be right back."  
He hurried down to Massey's office, still muttering under his breath. Whatever the doctor was going to say, Starsky was sure he wasn't going to like it.  
Dr. Massey introduced him to Dr. Marshall and handed Starsky the report.  
"I had a courier bring over the final autopsy report on Christine. I wanted to look it over before Hutch saw it. It's a good thing I did."  
At first, the final report read the same as the preliminary one. As he turned the page, his eyes widened. He stared at the words, not believing them. He looked at Dr. Massey and echoed Dr. Marshall.  
"Oh, my God."  
"I think we know now what Hutch is blocking out. It all fits, doesn't it?"  
Starsky closed his eyes and shook his head. "You think she told him and that's what he can't stand to remember."  
Dr. Massey nodded. Starsky paced the floor. A dozen thoughts ran through his mind. He spoke slowly in an effort to organize them.  
"That's what she came down to tell him that night. Hutch keeps saying he didn't know that she was in trouble. She didn't tell him, because she knew what he would do. If she had something damaging on somebody and told Hutch about it, he would have to act on it. She knew that he wouldn't let up until she told him everything. She probably knew that someone was after her, so she picked the Broadway instead of going back to her own room. She wanted to talk to Hutch without having to look over her shoulder. Damn. Hutch is as much in the dark as we are. Even if he does remember more about that night, he's not going to be able to tell us much."  
He stopped talking and shook his head again. He looked at both Doctors. "What's this going to do to him, if he remembers?"  
Dr. Massey spoke. "It will do what I told you it would. Right now, he's insulating himself by treating this as a typical investigation. He's letting his cop's instincts lead him. As horrible as the shooting was, he's coping with it by putting it into a professional perspective. This is different because it's personal. There's nothing for the cop to do. There's no way to insulate the man from what he knows."  
"You're making it sound like he's two different people."  
"In a way, right now he is. It's the only way he's managed to stay on his feet."  
Starsky looked baffled. "You've lost me, Doc. I don't understand."  
"Dave, Hutch isn't coping with what happened. He's simply going through the motions. He's separated himself from the horror, by drawing from his experience as a cop. You two have had some gruesome cases in the past and he's using those experiences to build a wall around himself. That way, he's not really involved. As long as he keeps this on a purely professional level, he remains in control. It's only when he runs across something that he can't divorce himself from, that reality intrudes. He told me about seeing Chris' body under the sheet instead of your bed. This latest episode happened when he saw her pictures in the file. These things are too real for him to ignore. So is this."  
As Dr. Massey paused, Dr. Marshall continued.  
"David, we've said this before, but it's especially vital now. Ken needs professional help. This report answers a lot of questions. It explains why there is so much guilt and so much anger. If he remembers this before he's ready, the results can be devastating."  
"So, what can we do to keep that from happening?"  
"The same thing you've been doing all along. Watch him carefully and keep him from the personal aspects as best you can. All we can do is hope that nothing happens to trigger his memory."  
Starsky was angry. "This just keeps getting better and better! Now I'm supposed to censor everything he sees and hears. How the Hell am I supposed to do that?"  
Dr. Massey was patient. "You can't, unless you're psychic. We don't know exactly what happened that night, so we can't predict what will bring those memories back."  
Starsky got up to leave. "So, what can I do?"  
"Keep watching him and shield him as best you can. That's all anyone can do right now."  
"What if he does hear something that triggers his memory?"  
Dr. Massey's voice was grim. "Then you hope there are some pieces left for us to pick up."  
Starsky was not in the best of moods when he returned to the squad room. He stood in the doorway, watching Hutch. There was a time bomb ticking away inside his partner's head and it could go off at any time. Starsky looked up at the ceiling. How was he supposed to keep it from going off before Hutch was ready?  
Hutch looked up as Starsky came toward him. "Well, so far, I've struck out. The bus stations all say the same thing. Whenever someone rents a locker from them, all they do is drop some coins and take the key. They don't keep any paperwork on them. So what now? Do you want to go back down to Property and see if you can find another key?"  
Starsky noticed that Hutch didn't mention Chris' name or offer to go with him. He shook his head.  
"No, I went through everything thoroughly. I don't see any reason to go through her things again, or to go back to the hotel. As usual, we're stumped."  
The phone rang, putting an end to their brainstorming. Hutch got to it before Starsky did.  
"Hutchinson. Hey, Hug, what's up?" He listened for a minute, then continued. "You're kidding. Really? We're on our way."  
He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket. "Huggy says he's finally got something for us. Maybe this is the break we need. Are you coming?"  
Hutch was almost to the door before Starsky stopped him. For a minute, they stood there, looking at each other. Then Starsky swore to himself. What was he supposed to say? Uh, excuse me Hutch, but you can't go because you might hear something you shouldn't? If you hear the wrong thing and you remember what really happened that night, it could kill you, too? Yeah, right.  
Hutch looked at Starsky. "Starsk, come on! Huggy's waiting. Let's go!"  
Starsky threw up his hands and shook his head, following Hutch out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

When they arrived at the Pits, Huggy was waiting for them. He waved them over and had Diane pour them a beer.   
"What's up, Hug? You said you had something."  
"You got that right! I told you it wouldn't take long before some punk started running his mouth."  
"OK, Huggy, spill it. What did you hear?" Starsky asked.  
"I just heard from a reliable source that a certain two-bit junkie was in the Broken Bottle last night blowing his own horn. He was throwing cash around like confetti, to any one who would catch it. He was talking about going to work for a really heavy dude. He said the guy hired him to be his top mechanic and had already made his first hit."  
Starsky asked, "Did he say who it was that he took out?"  
Huggy glanced at Hutch. "Yeah. Apparently his boss wanted to get rid of this chick that was getting too close to his business. He told this junkie that if he did a good job, he'd make him his main man. My source said he was really strutting around."  
"OK, he sounds like our boy. Did he say anything else?"  
The look Huggy gave him was scathing. He glanced again at Hutch.   
"He supposedly was bragging about how it went down. He said he wasted this chick while she was making it with a cop, that he blew her right out from under him."  
Hutch swung away from the other two, clutching the bar for support. Starsky squeezed his shoulder gently.  
Neither man spoke while they waited for Hutch to pull himself together. Starsky had to wonder how much strength Hutch had left and how much more he could take.  
Hutch stood motionless as he fought to regain control of his emotions. When he was sure he could speak, he turned back to Huggy.  
"Does this "reliable source" have a name?"  
"Joe Meyers."  
Hutch was incredulous. "Spooky Joe Meyers? Huggy, that scum is so far gone that he talks to himself and answers in a different voice. How can you possibly listen to anything that man has to say?"  
To anyone on the street who knew "Spooky" Joe, what Hutch said made perfect sense. It was rumored that Joe could have been the top dealer on that side of the city except for one small problem. He couldn't stay away from his own stuff. He couldn't handle more than a few customers at a time without losing his shirt.  
Huggy answered Hutch. "I know where you're coming from, Hutch. Joe might not be an intellectual giant, but he does know his customers. If one of his steady marks has a sudden increase in income, Joe knows about it. It's only good business. He doesn't want to charge more than they can pay, but he sets his prices according to their income."  
Starsky quipped, "Oh, yeah, he doesn't want to bleed them dry. He just takes them for everything he can get. He's a real enterprising individual, Huggy, real trustworthy. So who's this junkie turned hit-man?"  
"His name's Eddie Avery. He's about twenty-four, five-eight or so, and weighs about a hundred and fifty pounds. He doesn't have a real close relationship with water, if you know what I mean. He's got straggly blonde hair and brown eyes. If I remember right, he's got a scar down the left side of his face. From what I hear, one of his unsatisfied customers cut him during a brawl."  
Hutch shook his head. "Do you happen to know where we can find this sterling example of mankind?"  
"He usually hangs out in an abandoned hotel on Eighth Street. Lately, he's been spending his nights in the bar, throwing his money around."  
"What's the name of the hotel?"  
"It used to be the Biltmour. It's been abandoned for over a year now."  
Hutch turned to Starsky. "Well, why are we still standing here? We've waited this long for a lead, we don't want it to get cold. Let's go!"  
They said a quick good-bye to Huggy and took off for the hotel. Since it was still early, they had a small hope that they would catch him before he left. When they arrived, they went up the stairs cautiously. As they peeked through the front door, they could see four men sitting on a couch. One of them matched Huggy's description of Avery. Starsky grabbed Hutch as he went past him. He swung him around to his side of the building.  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
"I'm going in after him, what else? I don't want him to get away, not when we're so close."  
"Hutch, if you bust in there now, all you're going to do is get us both killed. He's not alone and I'd bet none of those boys are anxious to meet a couple of cops. What we're going to do is call for back-up and sit tight 'til it gets here."  
"What if they decide to take off? Are we supposed to watch them get away? After all we've been through? I'm not going to let them get away, Starsky."  
"Hutch, you listen to me! We are NOT going in without back-up! If you try to go in there before help arrives, I will personally handcuff you and put you in the car. Do you understand me?"  
Hutch looked stunned. "You wouldn't."  
Starsky met his eyes. "Try me."  
Hutch put his hands up and nodded. "Fine, whatever you say. We'll wait."  
Ten minutes later, two patrol cars drove up silently and parked behind the Torino. Starsky directed the four officers around the building and waited for them to get into position. Starsky counted to ten, then made his move. He went through the front door with Hutch behind him. The uniformed officers came in through the other entrances and surrounded the men.  
"OK, friends, it's the heat! Stay where you are and no one will get hurt."  
The four suspects, including Avery, looked around them and decided not to resist. They put up their hands and walked quietly out of the hotel.  
Starsky booked the four suspects and separated Avery from the others. He had one of the officer's take him to the interrogation room. Deciding to let him sweat for a while, they stopped by Captain Dobey's office.  
"So who are the other three?" Dobey asked.  
Starsky answered. "They're small time dealers for Spooky Joe. We wanted to make it look like a drug bust. No one will guess that we like Eddie Avery for Chris' murder."  
"OK, I'll go along with that. Do you actually think this punk is the one who shot Christine Phelps?"  
Hutch replied, "We think he's the one who pulled the trigger, Captain. There's someone else pulling his strings; someone a Hell of a lot bigger."  
"So, why are you still here? Did you read him his rights?"  
"Yeah. He say's he didn't do anything, so he doesn't need a lawyer. Don't worry, Cap, I'll be careful. If he changes his mind, I'll make sure he gets one."  
"I want this one by the book, Starsky. If he's guilty of murder, I don't want him going free on a legal technicality."  
"I hear you, Captain, loud and clear."  
As Starsky and Hutch headed for the interrogation room, Dobey stepped in front of Hutch.  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
Hutch stared at his Captain. "I'm going in there, Captain. It's kind of hard to question a suspect through the door."  
"You got this wrong, Hutch. Starsky is going to question Avery. You're not going anywhere near him. You can watch from the other room, but that's as close as you get."  
"Now, wait just a minute, Captain. I'm as much a part of this investigation as Starsky is. I was in on the arrest, and I'm going to be in on the interrogation, too."  
"No, you're not. This man is our prime suspect and I won't have this case jeopardized by letting you anywhere near him. You were emotionally involved with the victim, and in the room with her when she was killed. If I let you question him, and he confesses, the judge will take one look at that and throw it out of court. Starsky is the officer in charge of the interrogation, and that's final."  
Hutch started to protest again, but Dobey stopped him. "I gave you a direct order, Hutchinson. You can watch from the other room, or you can wait in my office. Which is it going to be?"  
Hutch snarled an answer and stalked into the other room.  
Starsky wasn't thrilled with the Captain's decision, either. *Terrific! He's out of Avery's sight, but he's out of mine, too. How am I supposed to know if Avery says something to trigger his memory? Oh, well, I'll just have to be careful.*  
Starsky wasn't in the best of moods when he got inside, and he let Avery know it right away.  
"Look, punk, I really don't feel like playing games, so I'm going to let you know exactly where you stand. I know you were paid an undetermined amount by an unknown individual, or individuals, to murder Christine Phelps. I know this because you have been running your mouth to anyone who will listen to your slimy story. So don't waste my time by denying it. The only thing, and I mean the only thing, that you have to bargain with is the name of the person who hired you. That's what you can do for me. Now, I'll tell you what I can do for you. You're going to take a fall, friend. It can be an easy fall, or a hard one. If you tell me what I want to know, I'll see that you do your time in that new maximum security prison they just built up the coast. You'll have a TV, three squares a day, and even a gym where you can work out. That's a lot better than what you've got right now, right?"  
"What if I don't roll over for you, cop? What are you going to do, put me in jail?" Avery snickered.  
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, scum. I'm going to make sure they send you to the State Pen, and you can forget the cushy digs. You'll spend your days in filth, eating garbage and losing your tan. The only thing you'll have to look forward to is a whole new dimension to your love life, if you get my drift. The inmates up there aren't going to care how young you are, or how good-looking you are. The only thing they care about is whether you're breathing or not, and sometimes they aren't too particular about that! Do we understand each other?"  
Starsky sat back and watched Avery. Avery turned pale as Starsky's words hit home.  
"You can't send me there, man! I've heard about that place. I won't last a week. You-you might as well cut my throat right now. It would be a whole lot better than that place."  
"Then tell me what I want to know, Eddie. That's all you have to do. Tell me who hired you and you're on easy street. If you don't, you're in a living Hell for the next twenty years, if you survive that long."  
Avery laughed hysterically. "That's just it, cop. If I spill my guts to you, I won't make it to trial, let alone the pen. So whether I go to the Taj Mahal or Death Valley doesn't matter. I ain't gonna live long enough to go to anywhere. These people are big and crossing them ain't healthy."  
"Eddie, you're not thinking clearly. If you turn these people, they're going to be in the pen, too. They're not going to hurt you. You'll be the one on easy street, and they'll be the ones in Hell. Think about it, Eddie. Which one sounds better? You can have a safe place to do your time, or it can be your worst nightmare. That, little man, is the only choice you have. Think about it." Starsky got up and headed for the door.  
"Wait! Give me a minute, I gotta think."  
Starsky leaned across the table. "Eddie, you don't have anything to think ABOUT. All I want is a name. If you say anything else, you're wasting my time."  
"OK, OK! I'll tell you what you want to know. You have to give me your word that I'll keep breathing, cop. If these people find out I ratted on them, my life ain't going to be worth squat."  
"I already gave you my word, Eddie, so quit stalling. TALK!"  
"OK, already, here goes. A couple of weeks ago, this guy comes into the Biltmour. Don't ask me what day it was, 'cause I don't remember. He was a fancy looking prick, you know, really out of place. I asked him if he was slumming. He sort of turned his mouth up, like he wanted me to know how funny I wasn't. He said he got my name from some mutual acquaintances. I thought that was really a gag, us running around in the same circles. He asked if I was interested in a job, and I asked what kind it was. That's when he got real secretive. He made this big show out of making sure we were alone. He said he worked for someone real important and this guy would pay real good. He said it might lead to other jobs, if this dude like the way I worked. He said I'd be real important, like top dog. So I said sure and he laid it out for me. He said there was this reporter chick, and she was nosing around where she didn't belong. He kinda let me know that it wasn't healthy to get too close to the boss' business, so I didn't ask too many questions. I kept my mouth shut and let him tell me the when and where. He told me to hang loose, and be ready to move when he called. He said it would go down fast, when it happened. So I did as he said and hung loose."  
Avery stopped to light a cigarette, then continued. "A few nights ago, he called. I was supposed to go to this bar and tail this chick. I was to follow her, and when she was alone, waste her. I barely made it to the Regal Inn, when she walked in with this guy. They got a table and had a drink. They were sitting there, and talking. I looked around and spotted fancy pants sittin' in the back. It didn't take a genius to know he didn't want to be noticed, so I played dumb. Things were going OK, until the broad headed for the john. I guess she spotted fancy pants on the way back. Next thing I know, she's grabbing her boyfriend and flying out of there. Man, I really had to hustle to get to my car before they got out of sight.   
Well, I followed them for a while, hanging back so the boyfriend wouldn't get hip to what I was doin'. They ended up on Skid Row, and went into the Broadway. I couldn't figure a classy broad like that going in there, but it didn't exactly break my heart. The only thing the desk clerks care about is gettin' their money. They don't pay attention to who goes in or out. I waited to make sure no one was nosing around, then I went in through the back. I put on a ski mask and gloves, and sneaked up the back stairs. I didn't see anybody in the hall, so I made my move. I listened at the door and figured they was too busy to notice me, so I kicked in the door. Man, did I freak when the john she was makin' it with rolled off her and pulled a piece! I didn't wait around to see if she was dead. I lit out of there and went for my car. I didn't find out until a couple days later that he was a cop."  
They sat in silence as Starsky tried to control his stomach. He knew Hutch had heard every word, and his soul cried out for him.   
"All right, Eddie, so you did the job. How did you get paid? Did this fancy pants get in touch with you?"  
Avery nodded. "The next day, he comes into the hotel with this envelope full of money. Man, I never saw so much green in my life! He told me that the boss was real pleased with the way I handled things. He even said it was OK that I didn't waste the boyfriend. Fancy pants said the boss wanted him alive for now. He told me that I was going to be his top mechanic, and that he'd be in touch. That's all I know, cop, I swear."  
"OK, Eddie. Does fancy pants have a name?"  
"Yeah, and it was as fancy as the rest of him. I ain't likely to forget it, either. His name's Howard K. Hamilton."  
"What does he look like?"  
"Well, he was kind of old, maybe fifty or so. He's shorter than me, and soft lookin', too. He wasn't fat, just pudgy. He was losin' his hair. It was dark brown, and thin at the top. He wore it in that short preppy cut like high class lawyers wear. The suit he was wearin' had to cost at least two bills, with a fancy vest and tie to match. His shoes were so shiny that I could see myself in them. He had brown eyes. He was sportin' this wimpy little mustache. There wasn't a hair out of place. His eyes really got to me, you know? It was like settin' up this dame was all in a day's work for him. It really didn't mean anything to him. You know?"  
"Yeah, I know. Is there anything else you can tell me? Do you know the name of this big boss?"  
"Are you jivin' me? Fancy pants never said and I sure as Hell didn't ask! Do you think I wanted to end up like that dame?"  
"I get the message, Eddie. Did he tell you why he wanted her boyfriend left alive? That doesn't seem too smart to me."  
"I had the same thought myself, considerin' I was the one he could finger. Fancy pants said that the boss wanted him alive. He told me not to worry about it. After that, he clammed up. He said that he'd be in touch, then left. I haven't heard squat from him since that day."  
"All right, Eddie, that's enough for now. Sit tight while I work through this. I'll post a guard outside, so you'll be safe. They won't let anyone in except me."  
"You've got the ball, cop. I can't testify if I'm dead, so it's up to you. Don't forget our deal, got it?"  
"Yeah, Eddie, I get it, loud and clear."


	6. Chapter 6

John M. Clairmont, CEO and principal stockholder of ClairCo, wasn't happy with his top attorney.  
"I want that story, Hamilton! That's why I left Hutchinson alive, so he would lead us to it. I'm getting tired of waiting."  
"Now, John, don't get upset. We'll find the story, don't worry. Now that Phelps is dead, all we have to do is sit back and wait. Hutchinson doesn't have a hint of what she was doing, so we're not in any danger."  
"You'd better be right, Hamilton. If I go down, I'm taking a whole lot of people with me. Besides that, there's a great deal of money to be made. I'm not going to let one nosy reporter ruin it for me. How much does this punk, Avery, know?"  
"He doesn't know anything, John. I'm the only one he's seen, and when the time comes, I'll take care of him. Even if he were busted for more than drugs, there isn't anything he can tell them. He also knows the only way to stay alive is to keep his mouth shut."  
"I'm holding you responsible for him, Howard. Meanwhile, find that article! I won't rest until it's found and destroyed. Keep your eyes on the cop. If he makes a move, you'd better be right on his heels. What other leads have you got?"  
"Phelps had a roommate here in San Francisco. I'm going to send some of my men over to their apartment tomorrow. I'll wait until she leaves for work, so we'll have plenty of time to look around. If we don't find anything, I'll have a little talk with her."  
"Good. Keep me posted, Howard. The sooner this threat is eliminated, the better we'll all sleep."  
Ken Hutchinson sat on the bench outside the interrogation room. His rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He fought a silent war with his stomach, ordering it to behave. He felt Starsky's hand on his arm.  
"Well, I guess that does it. At least we know who pulled the trigger."  
"Yeah."  
"Hamilton's the next step. He's not the top man, but it's a start."  
"Yeah." Hutch took a deep breath and looked at Starsky. "Now what?"  
"Now we go talk to the Captain."  
Dobey wasn't pleased with his top detectives. He waited until Starsky finished his report, then pointed his finger at him.  
"So far, all you've got to go on is the word of a junkie. That's not going to stand up in court. You'd better find out who Howard Hamilton is, and who hired him. As it stands, the D.A. wouldn't even attempt to go to trial."  
Hutch answered him. "We know that, Captain. We'll keep Eddie under wraps until we track down this Hamilton. Eddie's a loose end, and Hamilton might be waiting for us to turn him loose so he can take care of him. No one with any sense is going to make Eddie their top hit man."  
Starsky continued, "As long as we have Eddie, we've got the first link in the chain. That's where you come in, Captain. If we can keep the other three dealers in custody, it will make our smoke screen a little stronger. It'll give the impression that Eddie was picked up along with them on a routine drug bust. Maybe it will buy us a enough time to find Hamilton."  
"All right, I'll see what I can do. What are you going to do now?"  
"We'll put Hamilton's name and description into the computer and see what happens. If we can find out who he works for, we'll have our next link."  
Howard Runyan met them at the door. "I've been looking for you two. I might have something that will help you. It's not much, but maybe it'll help."  
"Well, spill it, Hal. What did you find?"  
"John Clairmont is not only the biggest stockholder in ClairCo; he's the CEO, too. Clairmont Construction might appear to be squeaky clean, but some of its divisions aren't. Several smaller companies have filed official protests against Clairmont's L.A. division. They accused Clairmont of using political influence to win the contract for the new prison that was built last year. As far as I can tell, nothing ever came of the protests."  
"John Clairmont has enough clout to squash any protest, and the companies who made them." Hutch looked at his partner. "Looks like Chris might have stumbled into a hornet's nest. By the time she realized who she was fighting, it was probably too late. I still don't understand why she didn't tell me! I could have helped her."  
Starsky could guess why she didn't, but only said, "She knew that you'd have to get involved. She wasn't ready to give it up, yet. Whatever her reasons were, you have to let go of it, Hutch. All the guessin' in the world ain't going to change what happened, and neither is blaming yourself. We have to concentrate on finding the people responsible for her death. If Clairmont's monopolizing the construction business, this could get hairy. We'd better start watching our backs. Which brings us to why we're here, Hal. We want you to run this name and description, and see if any priors come up on the guy. Also, see if you can find a connection with this guy and ClairCo."  
"OK, when do you want it?"  
"It's getting late. Do you think you can have something for us by morning?"  
"I don't know, Starsk. I should have something definite by noon, though. If it comes together before that, I'll give you a call."  
"That's great. We'll be in touch."  
The next morning, the two detectives were catching up on paperwork when Captain Dobey came out of his office.   
"I just heard from the San Francisco P.D. That roommate of Chris Phelps, what was her name?"  
Starsky answered, "Cindy Friedman, Cap. What about her?"  
"She came home from work early and surprised a couple of apes that were ransacking her apartment. They attacked her, then left. She's in the hospital. She told the detectives assigned to the case that they were looking for some papers that belonged to Chris Phelps. I've booked you on the next flight out. Your plane leaves in an hour; get to it."  
Grabbing their jackets with one hand and the plane tickets with the other, the two men rushed for the airport.  
Cindy Friedman resembled thousands of other young women in San Francisco. Cindy was simply an ordinary citizen, going about her rather ordinary life.   
The only excitement that Cindy had in her life came from her roommate. When Cindy first advertised for a roommate, she only hoped for someone responsible to share expenses. Being on her own in the big city was hard; rent was high if you wanted a decent place to live. When Chris Phelps answered her ad, Cindy knew she was perfect.   
It wasn't that Chris was rich, although she always paid her half of the expenses, it was more about who Chris was. She was a real live reporter, someone Cindy had only read about. Chris brought excitement to Cindy's mediocre life, and for that, Cindy adored her. Chris was everything Cindy wasn't. She was beautiful, sophisticated, and adventurous. Cindy could maintain her own safe, secure life while taking part in Chris' vicariously. The two women would sit for hours, eating ice cream, while Chris talked about all her adventures.   
Lately, though, Chris had been quiet and subdued. When Cindy asked her what was wrong, Chris only said that it wasn't her work. Cindy never pried into Chris' life, but knew her well enough to know something was wrong. Then, suddenly, Chris' mood changed. She was happy and excited, almost glowing. She told Cindy that she had something to do, and when she was finished, she would tell Cindy all about it.  
The next day, Chris left for L.A., and Cindy never saw her again. When the police told her that Chris was dead, Cindy was devastated. It felt like she had lost a sister, not just a roommate. A big part of her life was gone; routine and humdrum replaced the excitement and adventure. Her whole life was just a shade darker without Chris.  
About the same time Starsky and Hutch were starting their shift, Cindy Friedman's day was already turning sour. The alarm clock didn't go off again, so she had overslept. She rushed to get ready for work, and ripped a button off her brand new blouse. When she finally made it to the office, the hussy she alternated shifts with was waiting for her. Cindy was one of only two secretaries that worked for a local tabloid. Karen told her that she needed the afternoon off, so they were going to switch shifts. Cindy could go back home and return at four o'clock. If Karen had asked her nicely, Cindy wouldn't have minded, but Karen was always so demanding. She simply ordered Cindy to do her bidding.   
Cindy was still angry when she returned to her apartment, so she didn't notice the absence of Oscar, the doorman. Still griping to herself about the rotten morning she'd had, she stomped into her apartment. She was halfway into the living room before she noticed the room. She stopped and looked around her. The place was destroyed! Then, the alarms started going off in her head. Cindy wasn't dense, but years of living in her apartment without incident had made her comfortable and secure. It took her a few minutes to equate the mess in the room with possible danger to herself. Unfortunately, it was a few minutes too long.  
As Cindy turned to run, two of the largest men she'd ever seen came out of Chris' bedroom. When they saw her, they stopped talking and stared at her. Obviously, she wasn't supposed to be there. They grabbed her before she escaped, and she started to cry.  
"Please, whoever you are, don't hurt me! Take anything you want. I won't tell anybody, I promise. Take what you want and go. Please!"  
"Well, missy, we'd do that if we could find what we came here to get. We can't find it, so you're going to help us. If you do, then no one gets hurt. If you don't-"  
"What do you want? I can't help you if you don't tell me what it is."  
"We want Christine Phelps' papers, the one's she was working on before she died. They have to be somewhere, and we're not leaving here without them. Do you understand me?"  
"I don't know where they are! Chrissy never talked to me about her work, honest. I thought she took them with her. If they're not in her room, then she did. We don't have a safe, or anything. The building doesn't have one, either. I swear, I don't know anything about them!" She screamed as they moved toward her, "Don't hurt me! Please, God, don't kill me! I don't know anything!"  
It was a full hour before a neighbor heard Cindy sobbing from inside her apartment. He called the police and an ambulance, but the thugs were long gone.  
Arriving a few hours later, Starsky and Hutch went straight to the hospital to talk to Cindy. As they were about to enter her room, they met the doctor that was assigned to her case. They introduced themselves, and asked about her condition.  
"She'll recover completely. There weren't any life threatening injuries, just bruises and two cracked ribs. We'll keep her for a few days for observation because she does have a slight concussion. She could go back to work in a few days, but she's still very frightened. Apparently those men terrorized her completely."  
Hutch said, "We understand, Doctor. There'll be an officer outside her room while she's here, and she'll have protection when she's released. It won't make what happened go away, but maybe it will make her feel safer. Can we talk to her? It's important, or we wouldn't ask."  
"Yes, but don't upset her, and don't stay too long. Maybe it will help her state of mind if she knows the police are taking this seriously."  
"Believe me, Doctor, we're very serious about this case."  
The two detectives introduced themselves to Cindy and listened to her story.   
When she was finished, Starsky looked at Hutch.   
"Well, as usual, they're one step ahead of us. Miss Friedman, you said Chris never talked about her work. Can you think of anything she might have told you that would help us?"  
"No, I'm sorry, but Chris was really strict about that. She said it was for my own protection. She said that the less I knew, the safer I'd be. Considering what happened today, that's really funny!" Cindy laughed shrilly. "I told those men the same thing, but they didn't believe me."  
"Do you still think that Chris took everything with her? Would she have done that if she thought someone was after her?"  
Cindy nodded. "There isn't anyone in San Francisco that she'd trust with something that important. In fact, I can't think of anyone at all that she'd trust with her work."  
Hutch changed the subject. "How did she seem lately? Was she worried, or scared?"  
"With Chris, who knows? She didn't let anyone see what she was really feeling. She could have been terrified and still pretended everything was OK. It was normal for her to be cautious when she was working. Maybe she thought she could finish whatever she was working on before anyone could get to her. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. All I can do is guess about what was going on in Chris' head."  
"We understand, Miss Friedman. What about in general? Can you tell us anything about her state of mind?"  
Cindy smiled as she thought back. "She was in great spirits. Chris was always up, you know, she loved her work and her whole life. Nothing ever got her down for long. She was always telling me to lighten up, and to quit taking things so seriously. Do you know what I mean?"  
Hutch looked away for a moment. "Yes, I know. She was always like that."  
Cindy looked closely at him. "You're Ken, aren't you? She told me about you."  
He was startled. "She did? What did she say?"  
"She said you were the one thing she missed about L.A. She always said that if she ever settled down, she would go back there. She said you were the one person who made her think about staying in one place. Then, she would laugh and say the only way she would ever settle down was if she were...dead."  
Starsky was feeling very uncomfortable about the way the conversation was going. It was getting entirely too personal. Ever mindful of the secret he carried, he ended the meeting.  
"I'm sorry, Miss Friedman. I know this has been difficult for you. I'm sorry you were dragged into this. We promise you, we'll get the men who attacked you. You have our word."  
"Thank-you, that helps. I was dreading going back to my apartment. I was afraid they would come back and maybe even kill me this time. I feel better now."  
As the two men started to leave, Cindy stopped them. "You know, Chris was so happy the last time I saw her. She was excited about something, but she wouldn't tell me what it was. It's so hard to remember how good she was feeling about everything. It's so unfair!"  
Before Hutch could question her further, Starsky answered, "Yes, it is. Good-bye, Miss Friedman, we'll be in touch," and practically threw Hutch out of the room.  
Hutch pinned Starsky with a bemused look.  
Starsky said quickly, "She was starting to get upset again. I didn't think it would be good for her condition. She's supposed to rest and stay calm."  
"OK, so what next? Should we take a look at her apartment?"  
Starsky sighed with relief. "No, I don't think it would do any good. Why don't we check in with the local PD, and see what they've got so far? Maybe we can get a description of the suspects and try to match it with what we've already got."  
"Sounds good to me. I'd like to get back to L.A. soon, so we can check in with Hal. Maybe he'll have something for us."  
Cindy had given the local police descriptions of the men that attacked her. Starsky and Hutch picked up copies of the file, and headed back to L.A. to talk to Hal.   
Hal was waiting for them. "Starsky, Hutch, I'm glad you're back. I've got something for you."  
"Well, don't keep us in suspense. What have you got?"  
"It was sticking out like a sore thumb, guys. The minute I ran this Hamilton's name against Clairmont Construction, up he pops. He's a lawyer all right. In fact, he's the senior attorney for ClairCo. He answers only to John M. Clairmont himself."  
"I guess Eddie was telling the truth. So, Chris was investigating ClairCo. and Clairmont got nervous. She must have found something big if he was willing to commit murder to stop her."  
"Well, Chris couldn't be bought, so he probably figured he had no choice. This helps a lot, Hal. We've got some more information for you, too. Can you run these descriptions against ClairCo's personnel records? We're looking for any possible connection with Clairmont, or Hamilton."  
"Sure, no problem. When do you want it?"  
Starsky barely concealed a yawn. "It's getting late, and we've had a long day. We'll check with you first thing in the morning."  
"That's good. It shouldn't take long."  
Hal was waiting for them when they got to the station.  
"I've got your match, guys. The descriptions you gave me match the files of two men who've been working on that new building over on South Main. Their names are Tony Manson and Greg Towers. They've worked for ClairCo for two years."  
"Now, isn't that interesting? Well, Starsk, I think we need to have a little chat with Mr. Hamilton, don't you?"  
"I think that's a very good idea, Ollie. Let's go talk to the Captain."  
Captain Dobey was slightly more receptive when they gave him their report.  
"Well, at least you're making headway. So far, everything points to Clairmont. How are you going to play this?"  
Starsky shrugged. "We'll go in the front door, Cap. If we can get a warrant, we'll bring Hamilton in for questioning. If we can convince him we've got a tight case, he might talk."  
Dobey pointed his finger again. "You don't have a tight case. True, you've got more than you did a few days ago, but it still has a lot of holes."  
Hutch smiled. "He doesn't have to know that, Cap. Eddie's name should be enough to shake his confidence. Remember that he doesn't have Chris' article. We might be able to convince him that we do."  
"All right, I'll call Judge Shaw. You'll have your warrant within the hour."  
When they arrived at Hamilton's penthouse apartment, Hamilton answered the door himself. Neither Starsky nor Hutch noticed the flicker of recognition in Hamilton's eyes when he saw Hutch.  
"Yes, gentlemen, may I help you?"  
"Howard K. Hamilton? I'm Detective Starsky and this is Detective Hutchinson. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."  
"Of course, please come in. What is this about, Detective?"  
"We'd like to ask you some questions about Eddie Avery and the murder of Christine Phelps. We've had Eddie in custody for a while now, in case you didn't know that. He told us all about you."  
"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don't know anyone named Avery, and I certainly don't know anything about a murder."  
"Is that so? We think you know all about it, Hamilton. You're under arrest for conspiracy in the death of Christine Phelps. You have the right to remain silent..."  
"Come, come, Detective, I am an attorney after all. I know the Miranda decision by heart. Shall we go?"  
Hutch didn't protest when Dobey sent Starsky in alone to question Hamilton.  
Starsky got to the point quickly.  
"I'm going to make this easy on you, Hamilton. We've got you cold. We have Avery's testimony, which connects you directly with Chris' murder. We also have more than enough circumstantial evidence to take to the D.A. For the past several months, if not years, Clairmont Construction has been underbidding for state, as well as federal, contracts. That, in itself, is a felony. Add to that the tiny fact that you answer to the big man himself, and you have conspiracy in capital letters. So, naturally, when Christine Phelps started digging and uncovered your dirty little scheme, she became a distinct liability. So being the inventive little soul you are, you came up with a foolproof plan to get rid of her. It almost worked, too. Unfortunately, you goofed by leaving a witness. Leaving Avery alive wasn't too smart, either. When we told Eddie that he was going down for murder one all by himself, he started singing. As if that wasn't enough, you sent those gorillas over to Cindy Friedman's apartment. They work for Clairmont Construction, so that ties them with you. So, Hamilton, you can either go down all by yourself, or you can take the real idea man with you. Which is it going to be?"  
Hamilton's expression didn't change, but Starsky could see he was starting to sweat.   
"Avery's testimony won't stand up in court. I know that. He's a convicted felon. A defense attorney fresh out of law school could tear him apart on the stand. Without him, your so-called evidence isn't worth beans. You're fishing, Starsky, and I'm not biting."  
"You think so, Hamilton? We have an eyewitness who nails Avery as the murderer. Avery, himself, names you as the one who hired him. We have ClairCo's personnel records that link you, Clairmont and the goons that roughed up Cindy Friedman. To my way of thinking, that adds up to one vicious circle. Of course, it's only a matter of time before we find Chris' story, and all the research she did along with it. That, in itself, will be enough to hang you and Clairmont. I'm not in the mood to play games, Hamilton. You can either start spilling your guts, or you can sit in solitary and take this fall all by yourself. We can always haul Clairmont in after we find the story, which won't be that long. It's your choice. Either way, it's all the same to me."  
"You're bluffing. You don't have a clue as to where Chris Phelps hid her story. Hutchinson hasn't-"   
Starsky moved closer to Hamilton. "Hutchinson hasn't- what? You pretended not to know Hutch when we arrested you. Why is that? Is it because you and your boss were depending on Hutch to lead you to Chris' article? Is that why you left him alive? Of course it is. Why else would you take a chance like that? It's true, isn't it? Well, think on this. What makes you so sure that Hutch doesn't have the story already? We may already have this case sewn up."  
"You think you have all the cards, don't you Starsky? OK, what if I deal? What can you get me?"  
"Oh, no, Hamilton, not this time. You're going down for conspiracy and murder. There ain't going to be any deals. The only thing I'm offering you is the chance to take your boss down with you. Don't take too long to decide, Hamilton. While you're sitting in the slam, Clairmont's probably already trying to buy his way out of this. As the old saying goes, money talks. Are you so loyal to him that you're willing to spend the next thirty years in prison?"  
Hamilton walked over to the barred window. He spoke softly, almost to himself.  
"That's exactly what you would do, isn't it, John? You'd throw me away without a second thought. I'm sure you have a judge or two in your pocket, so you'd slip out of this. What was it you said? If you went down, you'd take a whole lot of others with you. Well, by God, I'm not going down alone. I'm not the one who's been raking it in these last few months. The retainer you pay me is only a fraction of what you've made."  
He turned back to Starsky. "No, Detective, I'm not that loyal. So, do you want to hear the words? John Clairmont put out the contract on Christine Phelps. He ordered me to find someone who would do it, and to keep him out of it. Phelps was getting too close for John's comfort. He wanted her and her story silenced before she ruined a lucrative business."  
"Was this a routine chore for you, Hamilton? Was setting up a young woman all in a day's work?"  
"No! It wasn't like that! I approached her several times about stopping the story. At first, she was like some crusader. She preached about how it was her civic duty to expose the scheme. When I offered her a great deal of money for the story, she acted offended. The last time I saw her, I gave her a blank check. I offered her anything she wanted, but she refused. She said she already had more than anything I could give her. The story was her chance to have it all. When I told John what she'd said, he was livid. He said he wasn't going to let one nosy reporter ruin everything. That was when he ordered her killed. So, I found Avery and set the plan in motion."  
Something in the back of Starsky's mind was screaming for attention. He had heard those words before. Cindy Friedman had said the same thing when she talked about Chris' last days in San Francisco. The article she had written, exposing Clairmont, had become her ticket to happiness. No amount of money could tempt her to give up what it would bring her. What was screaming at him was the fact that Hutch was behind that two-way glass, watching and hearing everything Hamilton had just said.   
Starsky shook himself out of his reverie. Frantically, he tried to think.   
"All right, Hamilton, my suggestion to you is this. Use your one phone call and hire yourself a good lawyer. When he gets here, I'll send someone in to take your statement. Then we'll take it to the District Attorney."  
With that, he ran to the door, told the guard to stay put, and ran straight for Hutch. On the way, he ran into Captain Dobey.  
"Captain, please tell me he's not still in there."  
"Who? Hutch? As far as I know, he is. Why? What's wrong?"  
"Maybe everything, maybe nothing, I don't know. Maybe he didn't make the connection. I don't know!"  
"Starsky, what the Hell are you talking about? You're not making any sense."  
"I'm talking about the real reason why Hutch can't remember what happened in that hotel room. I know why Chris really came to L.A. that night. It was all in the final autopsy report."  
"What final autopsy report? That's not in her file. Starsky, you'd better have a damn good reason for withholding that report from me!"  
"I'm not withholding it from you, Captain. I'm trying to keep it away from Hutch." He told Dobey what the Coroner had found.  
"My God, do you think something Hamilton said triggered his memory? What's it going to do to him if it did?"  
"I think it will kill him, Captain. I've got to get in there."  
"Maybe we're making too much of this. Maybe Hamilton didn't say anything to jog his memory."  
Hutch listened to Hamilton as he confessed to Starsky. He heard the truth in Hamilton's words. Chris believed it was her duty to inform the public. Money couldn't buy her silence. Chris was like that.   
The more he thought about her, the more he remembered. He was transported back to that night in the hotel room. After they left the club in such a hurry, they simply drove around with no destination in mind. Hutch knew that Chris was in trouble, but he didn't know how serious it was. Stubbornly, she refused to tell him. She kept saying that she would tell him later. Even though she denied it, he knew it had something to do with her latest project. When they ended up at the Broadway, he protested loudly. Chris was adamant, saying that she needed to talk to him alone, and no one would think to look for them there. He signed the registration card with a fake name, and they went to the room. Still, she seemed reluctant to tell him what was on her mind. One thing let to another, and before he knew it, they were in bed together. Afterwards, when he came back from the bathroom, she was crying softly.   
"Chris, if you don't tell me what's wrong, I can't help you. Please tell me. I want to help, whatever it is."  
"It's not what you think. Ken, I have something to tell you. Quite frankly, I don't know how you're going to react." She paced around the small room. Then, she laughed strangely. "I never thought I'd be saying this to anyone. My God, I've been married twice, and this never happened to me! I'm too smart to let something like this happen. I've always been so careful. I don't know what to do."  
"Chris, whatever it is, you can tell me. We'll deal with it together."  
She sat down beside him. Taking a deep breath, she blurted it out. "Ken, I'm pregnant, and it's your child."  
If he had sat for hours and tried to guess what she was about to say, he would never have imagined she would say that. Stunned, all he could say was, "Are you sure? I mean, have you seen a doctor?"  
"Yes, it's been confirmed. I'm about thirteen weeks along."  
"Thirteen? How long have you known?"  
"I found out last month."  
"Last month? You've known for a month that you're carrying our baby and you didn't tell me? Why?"  
"I had to be sure of what I wanted to do, Ken."  
He thought about that for a minute, then it hit him. "Abortion? Chris, how could you think about doing that without talking to me? Don't I have a right to be a part of this?"  
"Of course you do, but I had to know what I wanted first. This was an enormous surprise to me. I was taking the pill, and I thought I was protected. Obviously, I was wrong. Don't you understand, Ken? I was so confused. I had to know what I wanted before I talked to you."  
"Do you know, now?"  
"Yes. I want this baby, Ken. I've never imagined myself as a mother, until now. My life, because of my work, has always been so hectic. Now that it's happened, I realize that I want this baby. I know it's not going to be easy, and I know it's going to mean a big change in my whole life. I can make this work, Ken. We can make it work."  
He breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she didn't want an abortion. He felt a quiet joy. He was going to be a father. When Vanessa had walked out on him, he had given up on marriage and the possibility of ever having a family. Now, the dream he didn't dare dream was coming true. Then it was his turn to surprise her. He took her hand in his and said the words.  
"Marry me, Chris. I want to give our baby a real home."  
She began to cry softly again. She touched his face gently with her fingertips, then moved away.   
She turned back to him and replied quietly, "I can't marry you, Ken."  
"Why, Chris? Why can't you marry me? It's the sensible thing to do."  
"That's why I can't marry you. It wouldn't be for the best. No, don't say anything yet. If I hadn't told you that I was pregnant, would you have asked me to marry you? No, I can see by your expression that you wouldn't. I love you, Ken, in my own way. I believe you love me in your own way, but we've both been in bad marriages before. We know how hard it is, and we know that our careers make it worse. That's not the only reason. Our relationship has always been without ties. We've always been free to see other people. Look at me, Ken, and tell me that you don't see anyone else. Tell me that you've never slept with anyone else since we've been lovers. You can't, and if I told you that I've never been with anyone else, I'd be lying. That's not what we were about. We were happy with the way things were. A baby isn't going to change that. If I were to marry you now, this baby wouldn't guarantee that we'd have a good marriage. We'd only end up resenting each other. I care far too much for you to let that happen."  
"It's my baby, too, Chris. I want to be a part of its life. I want to be there for the baby, and you."  
"You will be. I wouldn't take that away from you, no matter what. That's why this article is so important. It's so big that I can walk in to any newspaper in this town and write my own ticket. I can settle down here and still do what I love to do. We can both have our own careers, and be happier because of that. If I'm here, you can be a part of this baby's life. I want it to know you. I want it to know what a wonderful, caring father it has. Who knows? Maybe this baby will bring us closer together than we've ever been and we'll decide to get married. The whole future is ahead of us, Ken. All we have to do is give it a chance."  
"What about this story, Chris? You're in trouble, and I think it has something to do with the article. Won't you at least let me help you?"  
"I can't. If I told you what was going on, the cop in you would jump out and take over. I can't take that chance, not yet. Tomorrow, Ken. Tomorrow I walk into the L.A. Times and plunk down the biggest scandal since Watergate hit the Whitehouse. Then I'll turn my research over to you. You'll have enough evidence to bring down one of the most powerful men in this country. Just give me one more day. That's all I ask."  
He looked at her fondly and smiled for the first time. "Do I have a choice?"  
She sat beside him and took his hand in hers. "No." She kissed him gently and smiled back. "Hi, dad."  
He took her in his arms and lay back on the bed with her. Joyfully, he made love to the mother of his child. Then, the door crashed open and his whole world exploded.


	7. Chapter 7

Starsky couldn't remember how long he'd been in the room with Hutch. Hutch was standing with his back against the wall, staring into space. Starsky knew that Hamilton's statement had triggered Hutch's memory. Grabbing his partner by his shoulders, he tried frantically to get Hutch's attention. Shouting one minute and pleading softly the next, he tried valiantly to bring Hutch back to reality.  
"Damn it Hutch, talk to me! Don't do this. Please, God, look at me! Come back to us. Look at me, buddy, please. Hutch! Damn you, don't you leave me! Come back. That's it, look at me. No, don't go away! Open your eyes and look at me. Good, now we're makin' it. Now, talk to me. Hutch, damn you, say something! Talk to me!"  
Gradually, awareness dawned in Hutch's eyes. For a moment, he just looked at Starsky. Then, he seemed to realize where he was. The pain showed in his eyes. A pain so great that it made Starsky flinch. He had the urge to look away, because a pain that deep should have been private.   
"I remember now. She was pregnant." He looked at Starsky. "She was pregnant, and, Dear God, it was mine!"   
Starsky barely caught him in time to keep him from hitting the floor.  
The ambulance screamed into the emergency entrance of the county hospital twenty minutes later. The door slammed open and the stretcher carrying Hutch was rushed into the ER. Leaving Starsky to pace in the waiting room, Dr. Massey was met by Dr. Marshall.  
"What are his vitals?"  
"BP is 165 over 100, pulse 100, respirations 24, labored and shallow."  
"When did he crash?"  
"Twenty minutes ago. We've already tried the standard treatments. Nothing works. He's badly dehydrated on top of everything else. Any suggestions?"  
Dr. Marshall named a medication, quietly giving the order to his nurse.  
Dr. Massey looked sharply at his colleague. "That's rather drastic, don't you think? You know how dangerous that is?"  
"If we don't get his BP down now, he's going to be a prime candidate for a stroke, or a heart attack. His heart can't take much more of this."  
"You're right about that. All right nurse, you heard the doctor. Get that crash cart over here."  
The staff in the ER carried out his orders quietly and efficiently. Seconds later, Dr. Marshall injected the drug and stepped back. The room was quiet except for the beeping of the heart monitor. Then, without warning, Hutch's body convulsed once, then was still. The eerie sound of the monitor's flat line filled the cubicle.  
"Damn, he's flat-lined. Get the defibrillator ready, two hundred-watt seconds. Hand me the paddles. Get a lidocaine drip started, stat."  
Holding out the paddles for the nurse to put the lubricating ointment on, he waited for the machine to charge. "Clear," was all that he said. Putting one paddle one each side of Hutch's chest, he tried to shock his heart into beating again. He waited for a few more seconds, watching the monitor. Still, the sound of the flat line filled the room. Nodding at the technician manning the machine to recharge it, he held out the paddles again. After the tech moved the dial up a notch to three hundred-watt seconds, he waited for it to charge. When the machine beeped, indicating that it was ready, he shocked Hutch again, then stood back. His heart started beating again, but the pattern was all wrong. Hutch was still in trouble.  
"What are his vitals now?"  
"His BP is down, 160 over 95, pulse 90 and thready, respirations twenty and still shallow."  
"Well, it's a slight improvement, but not much. I want Intensive Care alerted that we're bringing him up. I want vital signs every fifteen minutes. Also, start an IV of Ringers Lactate to fight the dehydration. Nurse, give him ten mg's Phenobarbital and Dilantin IM. Let's see if we can stabilize his heart rate a little. I don't want to risk another episode, so let's keep him sedated. Kevin, I'm going to talk to Starsky and Captain Dobey. Would you like to join me?"  
They found Starsky in the waiting room, pacing back and forth in front of Captain Dobey. Huggy Bear sat across from the Captain, watching Starsky pace.  
Starsky met the doctors. "How is he?"  
"Let's sit down. His condition is critical. We can't get him stabilized. His heart rate and blood pressure are still fluctuating dangerously, and he's badly dehydrated because he hasn't been eating. We're taking him to intensive care where he'll be monitored carefully. We've given him medications for his blood pressure, heart, and for the dehydration. That's all we can do. The rest is up to him."  
Captain Dobey spoke. "What is his prognosis, Doctor?"  
The two doctors exchanged looks then Dr. Marshall answered him.  
"If we can't get his vital signs stable, it's not good. We're hoping that the medications will help, but the one thing we have to do is get that blood pressure down. If we don't, the strain could damage his heart permanently. The next twelve hours will be crucial. If he doesn't improve by then, his prognosis could be grim."  
Starsky said, "Can I see him?"  
"He's heavily sedated, David. He won't know you're there."  
"I don't care. Can I see him, please?"  
"All right, but just for a few minutes."   
Starsky followed the doctors up to the fourth floor to intensive care. He looked at the monitors surrounding the room, and at all the wires that were attached to his partner. He could see the numbers fluctuating, and stared at them, willing them to go down.  
He had no idea how long he had sat there when Dobey came in quietly to stand behind him.   
Dobey said softly, "I talked to the DA."  
"Yeah? So, what did he say?"  
"It's no good. Hamilton was right. He said he wouldn't touch the case with only the word of a two-bit junkie and circumstantial evidence to back him up."  
Starsky sat still for a minute, then rose and slowly turned to face his captain.  
"What does he want, a signed confession?"  
"Either that, or Christine Phelps' story. He wants names, dates, and places. He needs facts, not just the word of a flake like Avery."  
"Then, tell him that's what he'll get."  
"How? Starsky, you and Hutch have been hunting for that story since Chris was murdered and you haven't found it yet. What makes you so sure you can find it at all?"  
Starsky looked back at Hutch. "We have to."  
He turned and stalked out of the room. When he passed Huggy, he said tersely, "Come on, let's go."  
"Where are we going?"  
"Hunting."  
"What are we hunting for?"  
Starsky's reply was grim. "Shark."  
Huggy held his tongue until they were outside the hospital. When Starsky didn't say anything else, he stepped in front of him.  
"Starsky, wait a minute! Where are we going?"  
"I think it's time we paid a little visit to the big man himself."  
"Who? Oh, you mean Clairmont. Why? What good is that going to do?"  
"Hamilton and Eddie Avery are only puppets. Clairmont's the one that's been pulling their strings. He's the one with all the answers. Maybe if we rattle his cage a little, he'll make a mistake."  
Starsky pushed his way past the receptionist's desk and into Clairmont's office.   
The frustrated secretary followed them, apologizing profusely.  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Clairmont! I tried to stop them."  
Starsky said, "Excuse me, MISTER Clairmont, please pardon the intrusion. I can imagine how busy you are. I'm sure you have bids to fix, or another murder to plot. Or, was Christine Phelps the only one close enough to the truth?"  
To the casual observer, Clairmont didn't flinch at the mention of Chris' name. Starsky wasn't casual, and caught the imperceptible stiffening of Clairmont's spine.  
"It's all right, Ms. Chambers. I'll take care of these-gentlemen. You may return to your desk."  
When she left, he sat down behind his desk. "All right, gentlemen, you obviously think you have something important to say. We can at least be civil about this, can't we? I don't believe we've been introduced."  
"Forgive me for forgetting my manners. I'm Detective Sergeant Starsky, with the Metropolitan Police. This is an associate of mine. I'm sure Mr. Hamilton has filled you in on what we've been doing. I thought it was time we met, face to face. After all, we've been traveling in the same circles lately."  
"Oh, have we now? What might those circles be, Sergeant Starsky?"  
"Let me put it this way, Mr. Clairmont. We've both been hunting the same thing the past few days. We both want Christine Phelps' story. You know, the one exposing you and your scummy little scheme to rip off the juiciest construction jobs in the state?"  
Clairmont laughed. "Really, Sergeant! How perfectly theatrical. What am I supposed to do now? Shall I dissolve into a repentant heap of clay and confess all my sins to you? I think not. I don't know anyone named Christine Phelps, and this is a perfectly legitimate company. We have done nothing wrong, so naturally, you can't prove that we have."  
"You call your business legitimate? You've been undercutting bids from every small company in this city. How many small businesses have you caused to go bankrupt? Who do you know in the government, Clairmont? Who's your inside man? You're a snake, Clairmont, and Chris uncovered all your slimy little secrets. She had it all, didn't she? She knew every disgusting detail. When she refused to be bought, and couldn't be terrorized into giving you her story, you had her killed. It was something like swatting a fly, wasn't it?"  
"That's enough, Sergeant. I have more important things to do than listen to your rantings. Are you leaving, or do I have to call your Commissioner and make a formal complaint?"  
"Don't bother, we're leaving, but we'll be back. Next time, we'll have a warrant, bet on it."  
Starsky turned on his heel and left the office with Huggy in tow. Once they were outside, Huggy decided it was safe to speak.  
"Starsky, just what did that accomplish? I thought we were trying to get him to slip up about Chris' story? He wouldn't even admit he knew Chris! So, what good did that do?"  
"We went there to rattle him, Hug. If he thinks we're getting close to finding Chris' story, maybe he'll try harder to find it first. I know it's not much of a plan, but it's about all that I can think of to try. I'm out of ideas on where to look next."  
"Starsk, I hate to bring this up, but what if Clairmont already has the thing? What if he's just covering his tracks by pretending not to have it?"  
"I don't think so, Hug. If he had the story, he'd find a way to take care of Avery, and no one's even made a move toward him. After all, Eddie's the only one besides Hamilton that can put the finger on Clairmont. If he had the story, Avery and Hutch would both be dead. Right now, he can't afford to kill Hutch, because he's not sure how much Chris told him. No, Huggy, we might not have Chris' article, but neither does Clairmont. I only hope we made Clairmont jittery enough to make a mistake."  
"So what do we do now? Sit back and wait for him to make a move?"  
As they got back to their car, Starsky shook his head. He honestly didn't know what their next move was going to be. Frustrated, he pounded the steering wheel with his fist.  
"Damn it, Hug, that file has to be SOMEWHERE! She didn't leave it in her apartment, and it wasn't at the hotel or the airport. It's got to be around here, somewhere!"  
"Starsky, this might be a little off the wall, but what if she mailed it; like to herself or to Hutch?"  
"I thought of that. I've been checking every day since she was murdered, but it hasn't shown up yet. Look, I'm beat and I know you are, too. Why don't we take a break and get something to eat? Maybe we'll have a brainstorm, or something."  
"I think I'm about out of brainstorms, Starsk, but I could go for something to eat. It would be nice if we didn't have to think about that story for a while."  
Back at the hospital, things weren't going much better. Dr. Marshall wasn't encouraged by what he had seen on the monitors in Hutch's room. After stabilizing briefly, his blood pressure had dropped alarmingly. Now, it was dangerously low. As he checked Hutch's chart, he shook his head. His breathing was still shallow, and his heart rate was too low. It was almost as if his body was shutting itself down.  
Dr. Massey came in and quietly stood beside his colleague. "How is he, Kevin?"  
"He's not doing well, Stewart. He's gone from one extreme to the other. If we can't get his vital signs up, and soon, we could lose him. I've been trying a series of medications, but they're not working. Has Starsky checked in yet?"  
"No. Maybe we'd better call him."  
Starsky sat quietly as he listened to the doctors, then stood up slowly. He tried to hold his anger in check.   
"Now let me get this straight, Doc. First, you were worried about his blood pressure being too high, now you're telling me it's too low. Which is it?!"  
Dr. Marshall tried to explain. "David, what we're saying is for a person to live, the blood pressure must be maintained at a certain level. If it's too high, it can cause a stroke, or possibly a heart attack. If it's too low, it can be just as dangerous. The blood is not going through the heart at a fast enough rate, so there isn't enough oxygen being generated for him to live. It isn't only his blood pressure that's dropping, it's everything. His pulse is weak and thready, and his breathing is shallow."  
"So, what exactly are you telling me, Doc?"  
Dr. Massey answered him. "He's retreating, David."  
"What the Hell does that mean?" Fear and anger filled Starsky's voice.  
"It's something like catatonia. His mind has been given too much to assimilate. He's had one trauma after another, and it's finally become too much. His mind is retreating, pulling away from the pain. It's like he's going into a warm, dark cave. There's no pain in this cave, just peaceful, comfortable darkness. The problem is, that if his condition is prolonged, he may never recover. When the mind retreats like this, the body eventually shuts itself down."  
Starsky finally got it. "You're telling me he could die, aren't you?"  
"Yes, David. I'm sorry, but if he doesn't improve soon, we could lose him."  
Starsky turned away from them for a moment. The cold chill down his back had spread and his heart was pounding in his chest. For the first time since he walked into that damned hotel room, he realized he could lose his partner. It wasn't just Hutch's emotional well being that had been at stake, it was his life. He turned back to the doctors, his voice pleading with them.  
"I don't understand! Hutch wasn't hurt, physically. How can something that's in his mind really kill him? How can that be possible?"  
"What affects the mind also affects the body, David. That fact has been proven, several times. The point is this; we can try to bring his vital signs up to normal, but Hutch has to do the rest himself."  
"How long does he have, Doc?"  
"If he doesn't improve in the next few hours, the odds against him recovering will increase greatly. I can't give you an exact timetable, David. I wish I could, but it's simply not possible."  
"I want to see him."  
"He's unconscious, David. He may not even know you're there."  
"He'll know."  
When Starsky walked into Hutch's room, the first thing he noticed was the silence. It was eerie, almost like walking into a morgue. He stood by Hutch's bed, looking down at him. Hutch was still, his chest barely rising and falling with each breath. His skin was pale, and for one blood-curdling second, it was like looking into a coffin. Starsky shook himself hard, pulling himself back from the edge of despair. He would not let Hutch die.  
He pulled the chair around so that he could face Hutch and searched for the words.  
"Hutch, I'm so sorry. I know that probably doesn't mean much right now, but I don't know what else to say. I can't begin to imagine what it's like to find out you're going to be a father. It must be one of the greatest feelings in the world. I know you would have been a fantastic dad. After losing them like that, no one could blame you if you wanted to go into that cave and never come out. Please, don't do that, Hutch. You have to find the strength to go on, somehow."  
As he talked, Starsky felt as if he were transported into the cave with Hutch. Only, this cave wasn't dark. It was filled with light, and it filled him with a sense of peace. He could see why Hutch was so tempted to stay. He blinked once, then he could see Hutch standing in front of him. Only, Hutch's back was to him, and he was looking at an even brighter light. A gentle breeze blew through Hutch's hair, and Starsky could hear the voices in the light calling to Hutch.  
Starsky's voice was soft, but insistent. "Hutch, look at me, please. Turn around and listen to what I have to say, please."  
Slowly, Hutch turned to face him. He gazed calmly at Starsky, then he spoke.  
"I don't want to come back, Starsk. I can't. I'm tired. I don't have the strength."  
"You have to, Hutch. It isn't your time. Look, I know I'm not the most religious person you've ever known, but I believe that no one dies before his time. This isn't your time."  
"How do you know that? What about the saying that HE never gives you more than you can handle? I can't take anymore! Why did HE give me a child, then take it away? HE took Chris, too! Why, Starsk?"  
"I can't answer that, Hutch, no man can. It's not for us to second guess HIM, but I do know one thing. You are the strongest man I have ever known. Look at all the things we've survived. You can't go through the things we have and come out whole if you're weak. I know something else, too. We're stronger together than we are apart. Why do you think we were brought together all those years ago? HE has a plan, not only for us, but for everyone else on this earth. We're not finished yet, Hutch. We still have so much to do!"  
Now the breeze had become a wind. As it increased, Starsky realized he was feeling the turmoil inside Hutch's mind. He couldn't explain what was happening and didn't even try.  
Hutch's voice rose with the wind. "What good has it done, Starsky? We fight to get rid of one arm of the beast, and another pops up to take its place! As soon as we lock one scum up, another one, just as bad, takes over! How long do we have to fight? How many arms do we have to chop off before we get to the head? Are we supposed to keep fighting forever? How strong does HE expect us to be?"  
"As strong as we have to be! HE DOESN'T give us more than we can handle! I know that with every part of me! I know you can take this! I know you can, damn it! You have to keep fighting, Hutch. You can't give up. We have so much more to do, and I can't do it without you. I know HE wouldn't take you and leave me alone to do this. It takes both of us."  
Starsky fought his way through the wind to his partner. His voice softened as the wind abated slightly.  
"I know you're tired. You have every right to be. I know it's hard, but you have to come back, Hutch. You have to come back to me. I can't do it alone. So stay here and rest for a while, if you need to. Only, don't stay too long, and don't go too far."  
Starsky blinked, and found himself back in the room. He looked down at Hutch.  
"Come back, Hutch. Don't leave us. Don't leave me."  
He turned and walked out of the room. As he went past Huggy, all he said was, "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

Starsky marched down the corridor with Huggy trailing behind him. He stopped at the lobby doors and squinted, letting his eyes get adjusted to the light. For a moment, he thought about the light in the cave. Did it really happen, or was it an hallucination brought on by the thought of losing Hutch? He didn't know, or care.   
For the time being, he would concentrate on Clairmont, and the case. Starsky shook his head, frustrated. He didn't know what to do next. Hopefully, Clairmont would get in touch with Hamilton, and would push Hamilton into doing something stupid. If Clairmont thought Starsky knew where Chris' files were, he would naturally put more pressure on Hamilton to find them before Starsky did. Maybe it was time for Starsky to kick back a little and let someone else run around for a while.  
"Hello? Starsky? Remember me? It's your old pal, Huggy Bear. Do you mind telling me why we are sitting here in this striped tomato, going nowhere?"  
Starsky blinked. "Sorry, Hug. I was just thinking. I think we should stake out Hamilton's place, and see what he does next. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of running around in circles. We haven't found a clue as to where Chris' files are. Let's see if Hamilton does any better."  
When Dr. Marshall heard his name over the intercom system, a sense of defeat washed over him. His back stiffened and his shoulders set as he entered ICU. Instead of the silent grief that he had expected, the room was filled with activity. Dr. Massey was quietly issuing orders, and the nurses moved efficiently to carry them out.  
"Stewart, what's happened?"  
"Take a look at the monitors, Kevin. What do you see?"  
Dr. Marshall looked, then looked again. He let out a soft cheer.  
"His b/p is up, and so are his other vitals! They're still not what they should be, but by God, they're up!"  
"The nurse called me, just a few minutes ago. She was making her routine check, and found this. That's when I called you. He's beginning to fight. He's trying to come back."  
"Then let's help him."  
Unaware of the drama going on at the hospital, Starsky and Huggy sat in front of Hamilton's building, waiting impatiently. Hamilton had left his home, and driven straight to his office, with no stops in between.  
"Maybe he hasn't talked to Clairmont yet, Starsk."  
"Oh, he's talked to him, Huggy. You can bet that Clairmont called him the second we left his office. He's probably just taking it easy, planning his next move. All we can do is wait."  
Huggy wasn't too happy about just sitting there, and he could tell Starsky wasn't either, but there was nothing they could do about it. After another hour, however, Huggy was getting antsy. He opened his mouth to suggest they get a thermos of coffee when the call came over the radio.  
"Dispatch to Zebra 3. Stand by for an emergency transmission from Community General Hospital."  
An emergency call from the hospital could only mean one thing. Huggy was afraid that he knew what they were about to hear. Huggy looked over at Starsky. He was sitting perfectly still, hands clutching the steering wheel. When he didn't move to pick up the microphone, Huggy reluctantly did.  
"This is Zebra 3. Go ahead, dispatch."  
"Huggy, is that you? Is David with you?"  
"Yeah, Doc, he's here. Go ahead."  
Starsky's eyes closed and his hands gripped the wheel as tightly as he could, and waited for the words.  
"David, he's coming out of it! His vital signs are up, and they're stabilizing. He's improving, David!"  
Starsky grabbed the mike, laughing. "That's great, Doc! Does that mean that he's going to be all right?"  
"Well, he's not completely out of the woods, yet. He won't be until he regains consciousness, but this is a very good sign. We're still going to be watching him carefully, of course, but at least now we can be optimistic."  
"Thank God for that much, anyway. Look, we'll be there as soon as we can. Until then, keep us posted, all right?"  
"Of course we will. Ending transmission."  
Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, something had gone their way. Hutch was going to be all right, he could feel it. Hallucination or not, Starsky knew he had reached Hutch somehow. What he had said was the key to Hutch's recovery. Starsky's head came up. He snapped his fingers. That was it! He knew what he had to do now. Starsky slammed the car into drive, peeling away from the curb as Huggy frantically clutched the roof of the car for support.  
"Wait a minute, Starsky! Where are we going?"  
"To the hospital," was all that he said.  
Starsky walked into Hutch's room, with Huggy and Captain Dobey close behind him. He gazed down at his partner. Hutch was sleeping naturally now; his color was back to normal, breathing easily. Starsky nodded to himself, then turned to his captain.  
"Captain, I know where Chris' story is, and I know how to get it."  
"Starsky, are you serious? Where is it?"   
"Think about it for a minute. Chris probably knew that Hamilton would try to kill her, especially after she turned down his 'blank check'. So she would want to put it where Clairmont couldn't get to it, no matter how powerful he was. She had to put it in a safe place, where someone couldn't just walk in and take it."  
Huggy chimed in, "So it has to be in a safe deposit box somewhere. That way, Clairmont couldn't find it easily. Where is it, Starsk? I can't think of anywhere that we HAVEN'T looked."  
"I don't know exactly where it is, Hug, but I know who does." Starsky turned to look at Hutch.  
Dobey snorted, exasperated. "Hutch? Starsky, he's as much in the dark as we are, if not more. How could he know where her files are?"  
"He doesn't know that he knows. Cap, when you have something important, something valuable, where do you put it? In a safe deposit box, like you said, Huggy. Now, no matter where this box is, what's the one thing you have to have to get into it?"  
The light dawned on Huggy's face. "A key, you have to have a key!"  
"That's right, and I have a good idea where that key is." He turned to Dr. Massey. "Where are the clothes that Hutch was wearing when we brought him into the ER?"  
"They're here in the closet. David, those aren't the same clothes he was wearing the night of the murder."  
"If I'm right, it doesn't matter. Would you get them, please?"  
As Dr. Massey went for Hutch's clothes, Starsky continued his explanation. "You see, Cap, from the start, we've wondered why Clairmont left Hutch alive. We knew it had something to do with the story, but we just thought Clairmont was waiting for Hutch to lead them to where she had it hidden. If that's the only reason, why didn't he kill Hutch when he realized Hutch didn't know anything about Chris' work? Maybe he's thinking the same thing we are. Chris thought of a way to keep her files from falling into the wrong hands, even if she died. She made sure Hutch was the only one who could get to them. The only way to do that was to make sure he had the key. So she had to plant it where he would eventually find it, no matter what happened after she was killed. Chris was the one who provided the final clue."  
Starsky laid Hutch's clothes down on the table and went straight for his wallet, talking as he moved.  
"We found Chris' hotel key in the one place she wouldn't lose it; in her wallet. That way, no matter how many times she changed clothes, or where she went, she would have it with her. So that's where she hid the most important possession she had."  
Searching each compartment carefully, he finally found the hidden treasure. Wordlessly, he turned to his audience and opened his hand. In his palm lay a single, gleaming key. Gingerly, Huggy picked it up and looked at it. Turning slowly, and squinting to read the tiny letters inscribed on its head, he read, "Commerce Bank, LA County. Where's that?"  
Dobey answered, "It's on 4th and Main, not far from the hotel where she was staying. I'll call Judge Shaw again. You'll have a warrant within the half hour."  
Thirty minutes later, they were meeting the bank manager in the lobby.   
"I'm Peter Helton, Detective Starsky. How may I help you?"  
"We're investigating a homicide, and have reason to believe crucial evidence is locked in one of your safe deposit boxes. I asked for you personally because it's extremely important that we get into that box as soon as possible."  
"In whose name would the box be?"  
"It would be either Christine Phelps or Ken Hutchinson."  
"I take it they aren't able to come in person."  
"No, unfortunately they're not." Starsky didn't elaborate.  
"Let me check our files. It will only take a moment." A few minutes later, he was back. "Yes, we have that box. It's in the name of Kenneth Hutchinson. Um, Detective Starsky, I don't mean to be difficult, but since the owners of the box aren't here in person, you'll need a warrant to get into it."  
Starsky handed the manager the paper he had been holding.   
"There you are, Mr. Helton. Don't worry, in investigations of this kind, a warrant is SOP. May we see the box?"  
Henderson led them deep into the vault of the bank. Stopping at a row of small boxes, he checked the key to make sure it matched the number on the box. He inserted the key Starsky handed him, and the key he held, and opened the box. Taking out the long metal drawer, he handed it over to Starsky.  
"Let me know when you're finished, Detective. If there's anything I can help you with, let the teller know. I'll leave you alone now."  
Starsky thanked him and waited until he left the room. He glanced at Huggy.  
"Well, here goes nothing." Starsky took a deep breath and opened the box.  
On top, in a plain manila envelope, was the story that had cost Chris her life. Starsky skimmed it quickly, to make sure it was authentic then handed it to Huggy. It was what lay underneath the envelope that interested Starsky most.  
It didn't take long for Starsky to understand why Clairmont was willing to commit double homicide to protect him. Chris had him cold. Names, dates, invoices, and secret contracts were all documented. As he read through the papers, Starsky realized something else. Clairmont wasn't the only person Chris had named. By the time this mess was resolved, several big name heads were going to roll; government heads as well as civilian ones.  
"Boy, Huggy, Chris really opened a Pandora's Box with this one. I wonder if she knew how deep the slime really went."  
"Probably not at first, Starsk. Maybe by the time she realized what she had, it was too late. She was in too deep to get out. So, she did the only thing she could do. She turned it around and tried to make something positive out of it. Before she could do that, Clairmont had her killed."  
"Well, at least we can finish it for her. It won't bring them back, but at least it will help put things to rest. Come on, Hug, let's get out of here. We have a shark to catch."  
Back at the hospital, things were also looking better. Hutch continued to improve, and was moved out of Intensive Care into a private room. In a routine check, one of the nurses noticed the first movements. They were barely noticeable, but Hutch was definitely starting to wake up. Running out of the room, she returned seconds later with Dr. Massey and Dr. Marshall.  
A moment later, without fanfare, Hutch opened his eyes. He lay there for a minute, looking around.  
Dr. Massey spoke quietly. "Ken, can you hear me?"  
Hutch looked at the doctors, and nodded.  
"This is Dr. Marshall, Ken. He's been assisting me on your case. You're in the hospital. Do you understand?"  
Again, Hutch nodded.  
Dr. Massey glanced at his colleague then softly asked. "Do you know why?"  
A look of deep sadness crossed his face, and he turned slightly away from the doctors. Still silent, he nodded once more.  
Massey laid his hand on Hutch's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ken. I know you've been through an extremely rough time emotionally, but we can help you deal with it. It won't happen overnight, but you will get through this. I promise."  
For a few minutes, Hutch lay quietly then he blinked once and looked around. Swallowing and then clearing his throat, he spoke for the first time.  
"Where's Starsky?"  
"He's following up some leads, Ken. He knows where the article that Chris wrote is. He went to get it."  
Hutch lay quietly for a moment then blinked. Incredibly, he started to get up.  
Massey stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?"  
"I'm going back to work, Doc. If Starsky's got the story, then he's going after Clairmont. He'll need back-up."  
"Now, hold on a minute, Ken. You are NOT going anywhere! For one thing, he's not alone. Huggy's with him. You're not strong enough to get out of bed, let alone go back to work. The only thing you'd do is fall flat on your face."  
Hutch tried to sit up, despite Massey's hand on him. He struggled momentarily then slumped back. The doctor was right; he couldn't even push his way past Massey.  
"OK, Doc, you win, for now. So what's next?"  
"You rest, relax, and get your strength back. When you feel stronger, we'll talk."  
As Starsky was leaving the bank, one of the tellers called to him, motioning that he had a phone call. Puzzled, he took the phone from her.  
"Starsky."  
"David, this is Dr. Massey. He's awake! He woke up a few minutes ago."  
"Thank God! How is he?"  
"All his vital signs are normal. He's coherent; he knows where he is, and what's happened. David, he remembers everything."  
Starsky was silent for a moment then asked, "How's he taking it?"  
"He's understandably quiet. When he regains his strength, we can start working through this. I see no reason why he can't make a full recovery. Of course, it won't be easy, and it will take time, but I can see the end of this mess in sight, for everybody."  
"You got that right, Doc. We're on our way to end it right now for one person. Look, tell Hutch that I'll see him as soon as I can."  
"I'll tell him. David, be careful."  
Once again, Starsky and Huggy pushed their way past Clairmont's receptionist, and stormed into his office.  
"Now look, Starsky! You are NOT welcome here! Leave my office immediately, or I'll call your police station and have you forcibly removed. Now, Detective!"  
"Save yourself a call, Clairmont. They're already on their way. You see, Clairmont, we found it."  
Clairmont's eyes widened and the color drained from his face as the significance of Starsky's words dawned on him.   
"You found...it?"  
"That's right, scum. We found Chris Phelps' entire file and the story she wrote. We made a little stop on the way over here, and I have a little present for you."  
He threw the slip of paper he had been holding on Clairmont's desk. Clairmont sat down slowly and picked it up. He read it and looked up at Starsky.   
"You are under arrest, Clairmont. The charges are fraud, bribing government officials, tampering with government bids, and assault and battery on Cindy Friedman, conspiracy in the death of Christine Phelps and last but not least, two counts of pre-meditated murder."  
"Wait a minute! Two counts of murder? Hutchinson is very much alive, Starsky."  
"Yes, he is, and he's going to come out of this mess whole, no thanks to you. I wasn't talking about Hutch, Clairmont. The two counts of murder one are for Chris and her unborn child."  
Clairmont blanched visibly. His jaw dropped and he stared at Starsky.  
"What, you didn't know? No, maybe you didn't. You didn't do your homework very well, did you punk? That's right. Christine was thirteen weeks pregnant. That's why she refused to sell out to you. She was going to use her story not only to get rid of you, but to secure her own future, and her baby's. She came to town that night not just to get away from you, but to tell the father of her child that she was pregnant. You know, it's funny. Her roommate said that Chris had been so happy, so excited about the new life she was going to have. It was a life that included a great career, a baby, and the father of that baby. Only, before they had a chance to begin that new life, you took it away from them. You came very close to destroying all three lives that night, not just two. Unfortunately, for you, one of those people did survive. He was too strong for you, scum. You see, he's been fighting low-life's like you for years. We both have."  
He paused for a minute and watched as Clairmont digested this latest bit of information. When he was sure that Clairmont knew exactly who he was talking about, Starsky bent down until he was eye-to-eye with him and continued.  
"Yeah, that's right, scum. Christine Phelps was pregnant with my partner's child."  
Finally, he could stand it no longer, and he exploded. He grabbed Clairmont by his collar and threw him against the wall.  
"Get it now, Clairmont?! You no-good, rotten, son-of-a-bitch! Not only did you murder Chris Phelps, but you blew her away in front of the father of her baby!"  
Before he could do anything else, Huggy was there, trying to pull him away from Clairmont. He wedged himself in between them.  
"Starsk, no. You got this animal right down the line. Don't blow it now."  
Starsky stood frozen for a second then he relented. He stepped back from Clairmont and took out his 'cuffs.  
"You're under arrest, Clairmont. You have the right to remain silent. You have a right to have an attorney present at the time of your questioning. If you desire an attorney, but can not afford one, an attorney will be appointed to represent you before any questioning. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"  
Defeated at last, Clairmont nodded. He didn't resist as Starsky turned him around and led him out of the room.  
"You know, Clairmont, you really have a beautiful office. You have very good taste. Too bad the only color you're going to see for the rest of your life is prison gray."


	9. Chapter 9

The week following Clairmont's arrest was busy for everybody concerned. Clairmont and Hamilton joined Eddie Avery in jail, with Avery and Hamilton singing their heads off. The DA was running around in a permanent state of chaos, smiling every minute. One could almost hear the scurrying as the rats named in Chris' files ran underground to escape his wrath. Chris' article had started a chain reaction that would take months to stop.  
For Ken Hutchinson, the time did not pass as quickly, and was much more painful. Gradually, he regained his strength, and was allowed to get up and move around. He soon traded his hospital gown for pair of pajamas and a robe, refusing to "traipse around with everything hanging out for the whole world to see". Slowly, his hands grew steady, and his voice strong. With the two doctors' help, he started on the long road to recovery.   
He didn't seem to mind the small audience that gathered in his room as he tried to weave all the threads together. Starsky and the others were filling in all the blanks, and in turn, he told them what little he knew.  
"Chris must have recognized Hamilton sitting in the bar that night. She didn't know Eddie Avery, but when she saw Hamilton, she probably guessed what he was planning to do. Maybe she thought we could lose ourselves down in Skid Row, I don't know. Anyway, she must have slipped the key in my wallet while I was out of the room. I can't believe she knew she was in that much danger and didn't tell me!"  
He walked around the room, still talking. "My God, I'm a cop! It's my job to protect people. There I was, in the same room with her, and I couldn't do a damn thing to protect her!"  
Starsky said patiently. "Hutch you know better than anyone else how Chris was once she got hold of something. She wasn't about to let go of this when she knew how important it was going to be for you both. I don't think she thought about the danger to her; she just wanted the chance to make things work out."  
Dr. Massey took over the conversation. "I think we can all agree that Chris made her own decisions about how she was going to handle her life. Whether those decisions were sound doesn't matter at this point. Nothing is going to change what happened. What is most important is that we go on with our lives. To do that, we have to work through this once and for all. However, I think we've done enough for today. I want you to get some rest, Ken. We'll continue this tomorrow."  
Everyone but Starsky said goodnight and filed out the door, leaving the two men alone.  
"Come on, you blonde Sleeping Beauty, let's get you back in bed before you turn into a pumpkin or something."  
Hutch snorted derisively as he let Starsky herd him toward the bed. "Shows what you know. The pumpkin was in Cinderella, not in Sleeping Beauty. The Prince was in Sleeping Beauty."  
"Well, if you think I'm going to kiss you to break the spell, forget it. Now, you heard the Doc. Get some rest. I'll see you later."  
Hutch was quiet for a second, then asked softly, "Why didn't she tell me, Starsk? If she had, maybe she'd still be alive, and so would our baby."  
"I can't answer that, Hutch, no one can. You have to let it go. You can't go on blaming yourself. I know you've had a rough time, but it's over. You have to get on with your life."  
The next day, Dr. Massey met Hutch for another session. This time, the only other person allowed to attend was Starsky.  
Hutch took them back to the events that led up to the murder.  
"I guess the first hint that I got that something was wrong was in the Fortress when Chris wanted to leave so quickly. I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong, but she kept sidestepping my questions. If she had told me then that someone was after her, I would have been watching for tails. We definitely wouldn't have ended up on Skid Row. If she had told me that much, I could have protected her."  
Massey spoke. "You weren't there to protect her, Ken. You were there because of the child, not because you were a police officer."  
"I know that now, Doc. I keep playing it over and over in my mind, wondering what I could have done to save her."  
"All right, then. Let's resolve that part for good. Answer some questions for me. You and David have protected witnesses several times in the course of your careers, right?"  
"Yeah, so?"  
"So, is it usual for you to put your witness in an unprotected place like the Broadway Hotel?"  
"No."  
"That's right. You have a designated safe house where you stay, and you have assistance from other officers. You also have as much background information as possible before you go into the situation, is that correct?"  
"Yes."  
"Is it also normal behavior for you to be intimate with the women you protect?"  
"No, of course not!"  
"Then you can see my point. You weren't there to protect Chris. That's not what she wanted from you. You were there so she could tell you she was expecting your child. She wasn't asking you for professional help. She didn't want it. She wanted you to support her as the father of her child, and that's all. So you can't equate this situation with protecting an endangered witness. You said yourself that you had no idea she was in any danger. When you did sense that something was wrong, and asked Chris about it, she refused to tell you. You're confusing what you know now with what you knew then. You're basing your guilt on knowledge of the future, Ken. There's no way you could have predicted what happened."  
Hutch rubbed his eyes, then his temples. Whenever he tried to absolve himself of the responsibility, his headaches always came back.  
"I guess you're right, Doc, but it's just so hard! I keep thinking, if I had only known..."  
Massey was patient. "But you didn't. You had no way of knowing. You are NOT RESPONSIBLE for Chris' death, or for the death of your child. The people who ARE responsible are in jail."  
Hutch leaned forward in his chair. "You don't understand. She came to me for help. Whether it was professional or personal, she came to me, and I let her down."  
"You let her down? How?"  
"She trusted me, Doc, and I failed her."  
"Oh, she trusted you? Let's see how much she trusted you. She waited a month to tell you she was pregnant because she had to make her own decision about the child first. During that month, she continued to work on an article that she knew was extremely dangerous, and she never made any effort to contact you. When she did come to see you, she didn't tell you that she was in trouble. When you asked her repeatedly about what was happening, she refused to tell you. That doesn't sound like trust to me. In fact, it seems to me that she didn't trust you at all!"  
"All right, Doctor, you've made your point! I was a fool, on top of everything else! You've made that point painfully clear!"  
"Why do you insist on blaming yourself, Ken? You weren't foolish because you had no inkling of what was happening. She kept everything from you. You need to accept the facts. You couldn't have known what was happening, because she didn't want you to know!"  
"That's enough, Doctor! I get it, OK?!"  
"Why are you angry, Ken? More important, with whom are you angry?"  
"I don't know. I guess I'm angry with myself."  
"Why should you be angry with yourself? Anger implies guilt, and we've established that you aren't to blame. So I'm asking you again; with whom are you angry?"  
Hutch exploded out of his chair. "All right! I'm angry with Chris! Are you satisfied now? If she were standing here right now, I'd shake the Hell out of her. Is that what you want to hear?"  
"Why are you angry with Chris, Ken? Tell me."  
"It's her fault, that's why! If she had told me from the start, I could have helped her. She knew I could! I'm a cop; a good cop. She knew that, but she didn't even trust me enough to let me help. That was my baby, too! If she had trusted me, I could have done something. It was her fault they died!"  
He collapsed in the chair, exhausted. Crying softly, he said, "It was my baby, too. She had no right to take it from me. If she had come to me, I could have helped her. Only, she wouldn't let me."  
Starsky went over to sit by his friend. He put his hand on Hutch's shoulder, and spoke softly.  
"Hutch, you don't know that for sure. Everything was set in motion months ago, when Chris started her research. When Hamilton saw her for the first time, she had to know she was in danger. By the time she came to see you, it was already decided. She was dead before she got here. The contract was already out. Chris had to have some idea of it. She was counting on this so much that she ignored her own instincts. If you had tried to interfere, Clairmont would have put a contract out on you, too. That wouldn't have brought Chris back, or the baby. Nothing can bring them back. Hutch, you can't stop living because they're gone. You have to keep going."  
"David's right, Ken. It's over. It's time to let them go. No one's saying it will be easy, but you have to do it. It's time to put the pieces back together, and we can help you do it."  
Hutch looked up at Starsky. "You know, for one brief moment, I had it all. I had a woman to love, a baby on the way and a real future. Then, in a minute, it was gone. It's not fair! It hurts, Starsk. Oh, God it hurts!"  
Hutch was released from the hospital three days later. The two doctors agreed that he had recovered enough to be on his own, so he went home to his own apartment. Starsky, of course, wasn't happy with the prospect.   
"Starsky, I'm fine, really. They wouldn't have released me if I weren't OK. I'll be fine by myself. Don't worry."  
"Oh, yeah, what happens if you start having nightmares again? Or, what if the headaches come back? What then?"  
"I haven't had a headache in days, and the nightmares are going away, slowly. Doc Massey said they would eventually disappear completely. Starsk, you can't stay with me forever."  
Starsky's eyes twinkled. "What, you never heard of the Odd Couple? Guess who's the oddest one?"  
Well, at least he got a smile out of that one.  
"Starsky, no. I have to get used to being alone again. That's part of my recovery, remember? I have to get my life back to normal, and living alone is part of it. As the saying goes, one step at a time. So, go on, it's time to let your chick leave the nest."  
"All right, but I do this under protest. If it gets too much for you, all you have to do is yell. You know that, don't you?"   
Hutch propelled Starsky toward the door. "Starsky, out!"  
Starsky opened the door, then turned back. "If you need me, you'll call, right?"  
"Yes, I'll call."  
"Promise?"  
Hutch tried to look stern. "I promise. Starsk, go...home."  
Finally, he pushed Starsky out the door. Alone for the first time, he leaned against the door and looked around. For a while, he wandered around his apartment, reacquainting himself with his home. He'd heard it said before, but had never truly understood what people meant. It really did feel like he had been away forever. It felt like the last time he'd seen his home was a lifetime ago, but that's what this was all about. He was slowly getting his life back; moving forward by trying to get back in the old routine.  
Ever mindful of his doctor's orders, Hutch decided to go to bed early. He walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom. For a minute, he stood there, looking thoughtfully at the bed. He shook his head. No, he wasn't quite ready for that yet. Shrugging briefly, he picked up his pillow and a blanket, went back to the living room, and plunked them down on the couch.  
He sat down, saying aloud, "Well, couch, it looks like it's just you and me."  
Taking off his boots, he undressed and slid under the blanket. As he closed his eyes, he noticed that the image of Christine Phelps had ever so slowly began to fade.


End file.
